Beneath the Canon You Settle For

Chapters

Chapter 1 - Only Yesterday Remains
Chapter 3 - Old Friends Turn Full Circle
Chapter 4 - The City Howls After You
CH. 5 - It's Fear That Gives Ponies Wings
CH. 6 - Everything Had Started Out As Black And White
CH. 7 - We Long Only For The Past
CH. 8 - The World Gets Too Small For Comfort
CH. Nine - There is No Choice
CH. Ten - You Piece Together a Jigsaw...
Chapter Eleven - ...And the Final Picture is You Finishing that Same Puzzle
The 12th - The Headlines Were Screaming Bloody Murder
Chapter 13 - All the Gold Dust in this Village... And then You, Fleetfoot
Chapter 14 - You Play, You Pay
Chapter Fifteen - Someone, No Matter what the Cost, Shows You there is Hope
16 - And the Killer Was Smiling
Chapter 2 - There Are Only Personal Apocalypses

Chapter 1 - Only Yesterday Remains

They were all gone. The impregnable silence was an ellipsis to everything that had led up to this point. In the blank slate between creation and manifestation. Exactly where I wanted to be. I released my grip from reality, and the door that had left me here closed permanently.

And then it was over. To make any kind of sense of it, I needed to go back to the morning. Back to the day the madness started.

PART 1: The Equestria I Remember

I should have known something was wrong the moment the sun rose. It was brilliant, cresting the lower cloud layer like a fiery angel, vengeance writhing into summer contours. But unlike Celestia’s sunrise, there was grace behind the rise. Red, orange, and purple. Vivid as gems and blended by an aesthetic painter. My eyes did not need to be open for more than a minute to see they were all wrong.

The hangover put itself at my mind’s forefront soon afterwards. The buzzing in my ears and the metaphorical knife in my gut reminded me of last night’s drinking. I was a corpse, legs splayed out over the bed’s edges. Having the sun shine ten times brighter than usual remedied nothing. It was practically life or death as I rolled off the bed, landing from a cloud bed to a cloud floor.

My whole apartment had been built around the soft material, an appreciated crutch when mornings invited painful recollections about yesterdays. But to install a window facing east, I must have been through half a dozen drinks when I made that decision. Routine was all that got me off the floor. It was routine that drove ponies to get ready for work with lethal levels of alcohol in their systems. Routine made us wake up, every day, in the face of a merciless sun and an empty two-pony bed.

It made us act strong for the ones we love; it was how I managed to compose myself into a mother for Lightning Bolt. A real sleeping beauty, she could never see me in the state I was in now–– a pitiful mare who still lived in the past, who piled her sorrows at the bottom of a beer.

Stumbling into the kitchen corner, I instinctively smacked the phone receiver and played the voice mail. It beeped incessantly, but the sounds might as well have been another world away. The first one was from my boss in the Cloudsdale Police Department: “Fleetfoot? Are you going to show up at the office? You’ve been missing for quite a while now…” The voice was barely audible, muffled by the ramblings of the coffee maker and a hoof striking wood. “Fleetfoot? Hey! You okay in there?”

The buzzing must have been messing with my hearing. The boss’s voice was much more male than the one on the receiver. My hoof went to examine the receiver. It found the kitchen counter instead, feeling for that familiar metal. There was no receiver. Suddenly, my hangover had worsened significantly; not even routine could keep me from collapsing to the floor in surprise. In front of my blurred eyes, the apartment transformed.

Shadows scraped themselves off the furniture, washed out by a nauseating brightness and saturation. The battered walls were replaced by spotless, navy blue culumus; pictures I had never placed up materialized among other indiscernible things. None of this could have been real… that much I could be certain of. From what little my blurry eyes could recognize, it seemed I was inside the cloud manor I had owned back when I was a Wonderbolt. I had woken up in a stranger’s home.

The beeping ceased, replaced by someone’s knocking at the door. “Fleetfoot! I heard a crash. Is everything alright in there?” I trotted to the door, using the voice as my lifeline in a turbulent sea of scrambled thoughts. I tried to shove what I saw along the way––what I had seen now––toward the back of my mind, but there was no denying what just happened. There had been a receiver there, in my kitchen, now someone else’s kitchen and someone else’s house. My mind was meandering, falling through questions and cracks in the delicate foundation of logic.

Where was I? What was I doing? I was trotting to the door, meeting the pony who was not my boss in the CPD. The door pulled back.

A pale pink mare with a similarly pale mane was on the other side of the threshold. In the lighting of the hallway… no, that was not right either. In the lighting of the outside world, she appeared like a desert apparition, impossible to concentrate on and accept as real. But without a doubt, it was your neighborhood friendly delivery mare.

“Jetstream?” My voice had the personality of a dry straw. “What–– what are you doing. Here?”

Jetstream raised an eyebrow. “Have you lost your memory, Fleetfoot? You always wake at sunrise, stretch your wings outside the manor, fly a quick circuit around the layer, and return just as I drop the mail into your box. You’re an hour behind all of that.” Without leaving me room for questions, she brought her blue eyes to my face, scrutinizing every square inch. “For the love of–– how much did you drink last night?”

A question I finally had an answer to. “Maybe half a dozen… listen, what––”

“You never drink the night before practice! What made you go to Star Hunter’s?”

“Who in Tartarus is Star Hunter? Ah, forget it. Jetstream, what do you mean by practice?”

“It wasn’t cancelled, you know. You have a show in a week! You said so yourself yesterday, quote, ‘The Wonderbolts have to be in tip-top shape for the ceremony at Fillydelphia,’ end quote. You look like you just learned about this now!” Jetstream was spewing nonsense, fuming like a minotaur in a maze. So, it was nothing to be worried about. This Wonderbolt business, though, left me wanting for a painkiller.

“Jetstream, I haven’t been in the Wonderbolts for seven years.”

The delivery mare looked through me as though I was the one with no connection to the present. She flicked her tail and blinked. “You really did lose your memory, huh? Either that, or you’re a changeling. A very inept changeling.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Nothing. Just thinking out loud.” She paused and looked off to the horizon. The hiccupped chirping of a northern cardinal offset the quiet. She flipped back to attention and added, “Meet me at Star Hunter’s. One hour. I’ll need a cider for this.” Without her usual goodbye, Jetstream unfolded her wings and jumped off, soaring out of sight beneath the layer.

One bizarre happening after another. The voice in my head told me to go to the bathroom and swallow some painkillers. Nothing would make sense until this haze in my brain was cleared. Walking back into my old house invited snapshots of days when life was good and a snuff film of the night when the pain started.

I passed by Lightning Bolt’s room on the way. Needing some sort of assurance that I was still awake, I opened the door a crack and peered inside. Sunlight flooded in behind me and created a bridge to an empty bed, pristine and unshaken. She was gone.

Just when you start to begin grasping the madness around you, the dream takes a sudden genre shift and mutates into a nightmare.

Chapter 3 - Old Friends Turn Full Circle

It was a familiar scene: alone at the bar, eyes burning into the mug in front of me, figuring out the motives of criminal masterminds. Except for the noticeable company and the lack of a strong drink, nothing had changed. The mastermind at the center of my conspiracy web was none other than Celestia herself. I already knew about her obsession with harmony and how far she was ready to go to achieve it, but the tyrant had finally snapped and annihilated alcohol overnight.

There were plenty of reasons to despise the Goddess–– her state sec, her egalitarian policies, her love for crystal window murals. But even if my colleagues might say otherwise, I was still a pony of the law. It was my duty to tolerate her.

This was different though. Celestia had crossed the line, burned it, and lynched it atop town hall as a banner of war against what liberty remained in this nation. Immortal or not, the princess would pay. For the drinks.

“––then she asks for alcohol! Can you believe it, Star Hunter?” Jetstream had somehow accumulated a pyramid of empty mugs on the counter, and, just delusional or just herself, she was reeling from the cider’s punch. A northern cardinal had perched on her shoulder, curiously watching the delivery mare sway.

Solar Wind nodded and hung Jetstream’s mugs on his wings. “Guess we’ve come full circle then.” He turned toward me, his eyes narrowing just enough to convince me the bartender I once knew was gone. “So, you woke up this morning, and you suddenly remembered you quit the Wonderbolts and became a CPD detective? I don’t mean to imply you’ve lost your mind, but doesn’t that sound a bit odd to you?”

Admittedly, it did. Nothing was as I remembered it: the sunrise, the cloud manor, prohibition, the city. Celestia could be orchestrating all of it like an omnipotent puppetmaster, shaking the strings of her citizens, laughing at the one detective who tangled herself into a web of crack-pot conspiracies. But two things dissuaded me from believing her the culprit.

One, Celestia was smarter than to rewrite my entire world. The Goddess of the sun schemed in the shadows, disguising her work with coincidences too authentic to argue against.

Two, my memories were intact. No matter what Jetstream and Solar Wind might say, I was a detective, and I had quit the Wonderbolts seven years ago.

They could have been right, and all the memories I had of the past would be nothing more than a perpetual nightmare. This could be my awakening… I brought a hoof to my forehead, trying to suppress the headache and buy myself time for a response that did not sound insane. “Listen Solar W–– Star Hunter, I know for a fact that I was here last night. You served me through midnight.”

‘Star Hunter’ dropped the mugs into a sink full of rainwater. His mask cracked a hint of reminiscence from its solemn features. “Yes, you pretty much dropped into a coma after a sitting with Soarin. Just before he flew you home, he told me to put the cider on your tab.”

I would expect nothing less from him. Soarin was the one pony from the team I had stayed in contact with - a colt with too much ambition to settle down while he was ahead. Loyalty never came free in Cloudsdale, but every rule had its exception, had its Soarin.

The story was still intact, save for the cider detail. There was a chance I could convince myself I was sane. “You said that awful phrase the moment I entered, ‘Your strength is fleeting. Have a cold one.’ Then you chatted with Cerulean after handing me my drink, nothing but right wing political babble for half an hour. After he went, you slipped into the cellar when you thought I wasn’t looking to––”

“Okay! You’ve proven your point.” Solar Wind was propped over the counter, hoof poised to punch my teeth in. He bit down on his lip in a last-ditch effort to maintain his stoic facade, but his misty eyes had folded already, pleading for me not to play my cards. “You’re not crazy, Fleetfoot, but just saying, nothing you say about your quitting the Wonderbolts adds up. This is your dream, remember?”

I had achieved the Equestrian Dream. I had been the modern success story, pushing through the hardships and flying higher and higher until nothing from the past could reach me. In those fleeting moments in the sun, my senses had been blind to the signs of an approaching storm…

“What does he do in the cellar?” Jetstream whispered at full volume into my ear. I sat rigid, taken out of my mojo introspective… taken out of my introspective mojo. All I could do was gape at the delusional mare, whose tilted grin grew more deranged as Solar Wind lined up a glare, aimed right between her eyes. The red bird was stifling its own laugh with a wing - a real eyecatcher.

In truth, I was feigning my stun and distracting myself from the last thought. No amount of euphemisms or poetic gibberish could lessen the pain of revisiting a memory. Facing the past was like entering the heart of darkness in a tempest: lost and isolated, treading with no company but the faces of loved ones until the inevitable fall. I could relive all my life with the stallion I married, but the conclusion would always be the same - a trashed manor, blood-stained floor, crying baby foal.

My daughter.

“Fleetfoot? Fleetfoot, is it really that bad?”

“It’s nothing of your concern, Jetstream!... Fleetfoot. You’re spacing out on us. Listen, whatever it is, we can take it one thing at a time. We can start from the begin––”

“Lightning. Bolt.” The words were unmistakable. They were imbedded in my mind. My daughter’s name. How did I forget my daughter’s name?

A dark blue hoof placed itself on my shoulder. I looked Solar Wind in the eyes, trying to force an answer I knew he did not have. “Lightning Bolt. How could I forget her?”

Solar Wind’s eye twitched. The friend I had known and relied on for seven years was confused. The friend I had told my story to and drowned sorrows away with was confused. That was no recognition in his expression. And for whatever reason, that got my blood boiling, adrenaline running from top to bottom. A powder keg thrown into the fire. All it needed was a spark: “Who’s Lightning Bolt?”

Chapter 4 - The City Howls After You

A bed of hot coal sat in the pit of my stomach. The cinders of years of work, toil, and blood were still smoldering in the hearth, a funeral pyre to all my life’s joys. The message might as well have appeared before me on a blinking neon sign: “Your daughter’s gone, and it’s all your fault.”

I kept it restrained though, let it continue scorching the linings of my soul. Years of experience had taught me to turn my losses into fuel for my inferno. The engine churned to life, then I had a new vendetta, a renewed purpose.

I shoved Solar Wind’s hoof away from my shoulder. “I’ve got to go now.” He and Jetstream were not my enemies: they did nothing wrong to earn my fury, but it was hard to keep myself from lashing out. The pony I once shared all my pain with pulled back his foreleg and nodded. Confusion, or perhaps fear, slipped past the mask of indifference he kept adorned.

He did not know. He had never known. What understanding we had for each other had disappeared overnight like the life I recognized.

I turned tail and started making my way to the exit, the first time I ever did so without a drop of toxin in my blood. I knew Solar Wind and Jetstream would not follow, one being smart enough to avoid following me whenever I had an agenda, the other being too impaired to chase me down.

All I had was a vague idea of my target. Something had tweaked with the workings of the world, rewiring ponies’ memories and stealing the light of day from me. With Celestia crossed off my list of potential kidnappers, I would have to start from the bottom of the ladder––the scumbags of Cloudsdale’s smuggling ring––and work my way up.

Just then, another problem entered through the bar’s threshold, a fiery red and orange bullet of a problem. “Fleetfoot! Practice started half an hour ago. The team’s waiting for your sorry hide to reach the stadium–– and what are you wearing?”

I looked Spitfire in the eyes, trying to recall what I knew of my former captain in the Wonderbolts. She was a hybrid with elements of a drill sergeant and a powder keg with its fuse lit. Her blood was as hot as the surface of the sun; her behavior was just as volatile. It took me seconds to confirm this was the same pony I remembered from those years ago, if the fact her frustration radiated off her training suit was not evidence enough.

I took a step to her left. “A leather coat.”

She took a step to her left. “Lovely, but it’s spring. Now give me an explanation why you’re here and not practicing with us.”

Just behind her, the blackened cumulus of the Pulsant District’s cloud layer invited a possible escape route. I could lose her if I flew at a sprint into its depths. “Not happening, Spillane.” Spitfire’s wings shot out and blocked the width of the threshold, and her squinting eyes dispelled any illusions I had about outflying the captain of the Wonderbolts.

I looked behind me at the counter, where Jetstream, Solar Wind, and a northern cardinal looked on like spectators at a high noon duel. Spitfire had me on the draw, and I was cornered and swiftly out of friends. Now it was time to take a beating.

I breathed in the wistful dew of the bar and faced Spitfire. The truth spilt forward, hardly punctuated by a beat, “I woke up this morning in a house that isn’t mine anymore. And apparently I’m still part of the Wonderbolts. Phones and alcohol don’t exist; my friends can’t remember that I’m a CPD detective; my daughter’s missing. I’m here, because I can’t ascertain whether I’m dreaming or targeted by the prank of an Eldritch god.”

Spitfire’s wings drooped to the floor, brushing the cloudwork with the feathertips. Her fire dissipated into flickering embers, presenting the exit I needed. “Huh. That sounds tragic… So, you have a–– you’re a detective?”

“Yeah, I sound crazy, but it’s the truth as I know it.” I knew the limits that Spitfire abided by; her loyalty to the Wonderbolts was second only to her loyalty to old friends. She would let me go, at the moment, before she had a convincing enough alibi to hunt me down. But still, every second she spent hesitating brought me farther and farther away from Lightning Bolt. I could not let her slip from my mind again.

“Call me insane if you’d like, but I have a case to break. Tell the team I’m sorry, and if he remembers, tell Soarin he’s a freeloading scumbag.”

I made my advance, physically persuading my former captain to step aside. She had her jaw halfway open, fumbling in speech and in resolve. As I passed through the threshold, Spitfire shouted after me, “Hey. Hey! Fleetfoot! Even if you’re bonkers in the brain, we can still help–– ah, Celestia be my witness. Don’t you dare fly from your captain! From your team!” Her words were for someone else, another Fleetfoot who still lived the Equestrian Dream. Or, judging from Solar Wind’s confusion, maybe not.

My wings, refreshed and longing for air to flow underneath them, unwounded for the flight. I left the pale lights of the tavern behind, sprinting headlong into the cloud layer. The walls dissipated like curtains of dust, resisting little better than an optical illusion; sun rays flooded in the gaps, and the wide blue came forward. The whole of Cloudsdale’s lower tier hovered before me.

I beat my wings to a steady tempo, taking my time in flight to plan my next move. I set a course across two parallel districts, dodging the traffic of late morning. If I really was a Wonderbolt as my friends were led to believe, then it would not take long for someone to recognize me. As though the leather coat was not already a dead giveaway. As I thought up excuses for being out here, my wings straightened out, allowing me to descend low enough to keep myself under the shadow of the stratus estates.

The more time I spent soaring under the clouds, the more I began to see how much my world had changed. Everything from the color scheme to the pegasi themselves was wrong. There was sharp contrast between every shade and edge, as though the city had been drawn over by a technicolor enthusiast. Ponies adorned smiles too lively to be genuine, especially considering how many were Cloudsdale residents. The downcast looks and purposeful avoidance had been replaced by perpetual greetings and giggles; if I had been travelling on the main airways, I would have never gotten to my destination without running into every pegasus on this tier.

The prognosis looked bad for me: insanity, intense hallucinations, paranoia of a world out to get me. And that was still being optimistic. The best possibility left me still in bed, suffering an episode that could leave me brain-dead. My other theories set the bar up in the uncanny with the daydreams of conspiracists and right-wing nutjobs.

They were all difficult to even comprehend, but seeing the world through the eyes of madness tended to make a pony more ready to believe.

A klick ahead, I spotted the sleazy hotel and tenements of Caeci District–– a business front of the smuggling ring’s high-strung underboss, Dumb-Bell. I had been there several times during my time in the force, and even with the sanitization of the world around it, the place still looked run-down and rotten.

I never had the authority to look inside the syndicate’s playhouse, but considering I was unofficially off the force, the thugs inside were fair game.

CH. 5 - It's Fear That Gives Ponies Wings

Dumb-Bell’s hotel was situated at the corner of a crossroads intersection, whereupon the infrastructure had been enhanced with magic to allow non-pegasi to walk without fear of falling through. But like all things in this city, the effort had gone to waste and decayed. There were sparsely any wagons or cabs operating on the roads; earth ponies hopped over holes to get from one decrepit building to another. The faded signs advertising new malls and construction projects stood atop the tenements of the workers who would build the district up.

The story of how the Caeci District was brought to ruin was a classic “fall from harmony” tragedy. Now, it was a hotspot for saloon patrons and the city’s undesirables, an economy specializing in decadence. Even without the Pulsant District’s overcast cumulus, this section still failed to shine in the sun.

At least, that was how I remembered it. I could describe how radical the minute differences were, but there was no point. Where was the satisfaction in that?

I came in low, sticking close to the roofs, hugging the chimneys and ventilation units for cover. My approach stopped atop the building directly across from the hotel, where a weathered billboard provided me an opportunity for reconnaissance. The hotel was six stories high, painted over in a lavish tan coat in a vain attempt to hide its cheap, cloud-brick architecture. It was the sort of place where frustrated underlings and smuggler soldiers would reside in just to live an illusion of luxury and wealth. Many of the windows were boarded up, and a barb wire perimeter had been set up on the roof. It also doubled as a fortress for the syndicate’s paranoid underboss.

The chink in the armor was a hole on the second floor behind the hotel’s neon front, made by one of the letters collapsing on the exterior framework. A thin sheet of metal had been placed hastily over the pony-sized opening. It was a shoddy insertion point, but at least it was a better alternative to kicking the front door in.

Armed with nothing more than my coat and my wings, I was about to storm a fort of trigger-happy smugglers. Even with vengeance pumping through my veins, I was short on stopping power for a suicide mission. But still…

I swiftly made the glide over the street, flipping my body over to kick the metal sheet in. An aerial kick and a tucking of wings later, I was sliding inside a vacated bedroom. The first thing to greet me was a fog of perfume and a stallion’s natural scent. Only after my eyes adjusted did I see the vibrating bed. Right into the smuggling ring's nighttime enterprise.

But still… there was an image of my daughter, gagged and tied up to a chair, in the hooves of Dumb-Bell and his soldiers. My legs would be bloody stumps before I allowed them to so much as speak to her the wrong way. Lightning Bolt could be somewhere in this hotel at the mercy of Cloudsdale's worst fiends. That was enough reason for me to be here.

Outside the room door, there were two patterns of clopping. A pair of smugglers was patrolling the hallway, but from the faint trickles of conversation I heard, they were not on alert. Using my wings to hover above the floor, I pressed my ear against the wall and imagined two ex-convicts with loaded hand cannons talking about their latest bloodthirsty excursion.

A gruff, baritone voice was answering a question: "Ya mean Ol' Dumb-Bell? The boss is clearly a classy fella. If he learned you were hosting a meet-up of 'Daring Do' fans here, he would toss ya out of Caeci to the next country."

Baritone's friend gave out a drawn-out sigh. He spoke with a broken chord in his voicebox: "Sure, Dumb-Bell made it clear that we would not 'fraternize' with famous ponies, but, Donny, think about the opportunity we have here!"

"As good as it appears, this is not the time to be discussing a possible panel. The captive's a master at elusion. If she gets out of the ballroom, we put her down. No questions asked." Donny had given me the confirmation I needed, but time raced against me. Lightning Bolt was on the fourth floor, held in a room with only one way in. Sneaking in was out of the question; I had to make like a manticore.

As they continued their discussion, I cracked open the door. Only the sparse lamps provided lighting in the hallway, casting a red shroud over cracked walls and a woolen carpet. To the left, Donny and Failing Voice were still patrolling, with their backs and blunderbusses facing away from me. The distance was fifteen meters.

Something reacted within my depths, a fusion of every vile act and thought to plague my body and mind. The tension that kept me awake and warm in the winters came unwound, manifesting into an adrenaline overdose. Fire entered my veins and lit the fuse to that hearth in my stomach. My wings unfolded, and I began galloping at the guard duo.

The hallway transformed into a spiraling fall as my legs dropped from under me and my wings carried me towards Donny's neck. A wallpaper of roses and vines dissipated into a rifled barrel, mixed like a watercolor painting, directing me to my target. Through that myopic lens of focus, he had enough time to turn his head and reveal his green horn and magic glow before my hoof stretched out to meet it.

The second stretched into minutes, enabling me to watch the surprise materialize on his face, one raised eyebrow hair at a time. A breath later, my hoof was drilling into the base of his horn, forcing Donny's head to follow the path of my strike. Without having time for so much as a cry, Donny began his graceful drop to the ground. His shotgun gleamed bloody red with the lamp light reflecting off the steel; my forelegs shot out with a quick flap of my wings, wrapping around both the barrel and the trigger-guard.

"Donny–!" Failing Voice gave out his last croak before I cocked the lever and leveled the peacemaker in his direction. There was no shame in this; I knew enough about these ponies to brush aside the guilt. There were enough corpses in their hooves to make them less than Equestrian. My hoof tightened around the switch and prepared to deliver them for their sins.

The soldier froze with his weapon in his teeth. I had time to guess his age, his occupation, from his face; how many deaths he had seen, how much innocence he had lost, from his eyes; what his final thought was, from his hesitation. Failing Voice was no older than a college graduate–

The hallway split apart as the shotgun unleashed its payload. The adrenaline promptly wore off, restoring time and un-dulling my senses. The explosion that resounded through the halls stung my ears, but it was nothing novel. The payload disappeared behind a powder cloud, launching Failing Voice into the wall.

"Deeauauughh!" The pony filled with buckshot clenched his chest, apparently not a gory pulp with smoke trailing out of him. I cocked the lever and kept my weapon up, prepared to blast open the skull of a zombie. "Ah, mercy! Mercy! No more confetti guns! Awwooouughhh..."

Unexpected.

“What was that?” More sets of hooves hit the floor around the corner. I could recall a blueprint, depicting the hotel’s layout from my position. The source of the steps was in the path of the stairwell. I galloped with the ‘confetti gun’ between my teeth, rushing to meet a purple mare as she rounded the bend.

“Listen! Do you hear that…” Her question slurred and trailed off as the adrenaline kicked back in. Quick as a switchknife, the blunderbuss came forward in my hooves; the barrel was up, my body tensed, and a fireball broke loose. True to its name, the confetti gun spat bullets made of rainbow streamers, trailed close behind by violet, volatile sparks.

“Buueaaaaahh!” She sailed the remaining length of the hall. I twisted around and gave one kick with my wings to propel myself out of cover, a javelin with a payload of confetti for the unlucky smuggler around the corner.

“We’ve got an intruder--” The concussive blast of my gun punctuated his sentence. The mook’s catapulting form disappeared behind a wall as I skid down the carpet on my side. He was still wailing as I ran past him, tugging at a face full of technicolor web. The hotel woke up like a dormant dragon, seething from the foundation up with a drunken stupor. More of Dumb-Bell’s soldiers were shouting across the floors, but from the cacophony, I could tell the element of surprise was still in my hooves.

The stairwell door was open, unveiling a brown interior made of cardboard and construction paper. As I ascended, the meshed plates that served as stairs rattled; a deathly moan of thin metal practically announced my approach toward the fourth floor. On my way up, I checked the smuggler’s shotgun–– one shot left. The smugglers in the next hallway were prepared for a firefight, and I was going in with one in the chamber.

“I’ve got the stairwell! Secure the ballroom! C’mon, we need to lock down this floor!” A cerulean pegasus opened the door leading into the next hall. “Oh sh–– Oh no! She’s here!” With no time to take aim, I leapt at the smuggler with the blunderbuss between my teeth. I swung it with a flick of my head, hitting him square in the chest. He took the brunt of my momentum, stumbling backwards with fruitless bravado.

My wings snapped into action, pumping with my life force. I bulldozed into the soldier, one hoof on his weapon, the other on mine. Peering over his shoulder, I spotted at least half a dozen more mooks running towards us. Like some sort of god of vengeance, I bore both blunderbusses and lay down an onslaught of party string. For a few seconds, this place was armageddon.

There was a firefight.

“Grrruuuaaah!”

“DEeeeeuauaaaggghhh!”

“Ah! My eyes!” After the third shot, I had an empty shotgun. After the third shot, the smugglers opened fire with their own guns. Looks of fear and confusion were illuminated between the flashes, and a haze of smoke and falling string decorated the corridor. Fortunately, the pegasus I was currently tackling across the hall absorbed most of the flying confetti.

“Stop! Shooting! Me!”

“Keep shooting! She’s getting closer!” I dropped on my legs and shoved the pegasus forward into his friends. I unloaded a shot on the nearest mook, a charcoal grey unicorn with his back to a door. The resulting shower launched him through and into the room. The remaining two ponies were too disoriented to aim at me, firing into the walls and screaming themselves hoarse.

Lying prone behind one of the fallen smugglers, I lined up the blunderbuss and sent another pegasus somersaulting. The last one standing fumbled with the lever, backpedalling toward a set of double doors. One cycle later, I had the barrel leveled on her forehead; she and I both closed our eyes in anticipation.

The trigger responded with a hollow click. The mook gaped and stared. The confetti settled and the echo of gunfire vanished. Then she brought the shotgun back up–– and I threw mine.

The ballroom doors were a short stroll away. Six smugglers writhed in my wake, suffering the worst party hangover this side of Equestria had ever seen. The underboss was all that stood between me and Lightning Bolt. I picked up the blunderbuss of the last soldier; she was too busy clutching her forehead to protest.

As I approached the doors, jittery whispers began manifesting from within. Dumb-Bell, backed into a corner with no back-up and no balls, was venting his frustrations to his prisoner: “...shoulda knew it! Them twats were wholesale muscle with no brains. Oh Luna, the shooting’s stopped. H–he’s going to be coming in any moment now! You bring Pinkie Pie on your adventures now or something…?”

I kicked in the doors. “Wait! Uh, wait a minu–– AAUUUAAGHHHH!” A falling curtain of paper petals marked the spot where Dumb-Bell once stood. His body collided with the wall, where it crumpled face-up like a poisoned roach. It took time for the echoes from the blast to stop resounding off the high ceiling of the ballroom. In the quiet that followed, I heard a pony speak into a gag: the prisoner was tied up on a short chair in the center of the room.

For a brief respite, my chest lit up. A thousand images appeared in my mind of reconnecting with my daughter, of taking her home, of keeping her safe from the clenches of a world gone wrong. But like all my naive hopes, it took just one second of recognition to shatter into sand–– the color of the pony’s coat.

She was a tan pegasus, not a white one; she had a monochrome grey mane, not a blue one. The eyes that met mine were not the sapphire jewels I could see my reflection in. They were magenta, fogged by experience and squinted in anger. The pony in the chair struggled against her bonds and screamed incoherent fluff at me.

Eventually, I did free her. The mystery mare was thankful enough to only slap my hoof away when she had enough of the ropes off. With the other, she ripped off the gag and immediately turned on me: “Took you long enough. Sor–ry if I’m a bit sore after listening to that fuming moron for a couple hours.” She took the time to check herself, straightening out what appeared to be a safari tour guide’s jacket. It was not until she was picking up a pith helmet off the ground and wiping the dust off that I had her name.

“Daring Do?” The fictional explorer, suddenly before me in the flesh, just grunted.

“Yeah, that’s me. What, were you expecting someone else with this sort of attire?” Daring was anything but a grateful protagonist. But knowing Dumb-Bell as I did, I could not really blame her. Speaking of the underboss, he was receiving a couple dozen kicks from his freed prisoner. “Smugglers! You should have just handed over the artifact to the museum like I asked.”

I was still standing in the same spot, trying to comprehend how Daring Do, the adventurous heroine of a children's novel series, could actually be real. I got over it with a quick shake of my head and a complete dismissal of the oddity.

“You good?” I asked Daring once she had beat Dumb-Bell to a sobbing sack of pity.

“Yeah…” She backed off and faced me, searching me from top to bottom with an inquisitor’s eye. “Nice coat. Matches the hair.”

“Thank you.”

“Did you take care of the goons outside?”

“They won’t be bothering us any longer.”

“Good.” Daring swiped something off of the crime boss’s figure, something that shined illustriously even without the sun. The smirk she gave me was too trademarked to exist anywhere except on a poster. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a thousand-year construct with no magical properties whatsoever.” I did not question what she said. “Who are you anyways, busting into a hotel full of bad guys with a confetti gun?”

I dropped said weapon from its sheath under my wing, letting the clatter clear my mind for a suitable answer. “Fleetfoot.”

“Fleetfoot. The Wonderbolt?”

“Detective Fleetfoot of the CPD.”

“A cop! That’s more reasonable.”

“A dang Fed!? Aw, crack son of a gun.”

“Who said that?”

“I think it’s Dumb-Bell. I can’t really tell with three of us talking at the same time.”

“Hold on, is this better?” I asked.

“Much better,” Daring answered. She suddenly tensed up and raised a hoof to my mouth. Her ears twitched as she did. “Listen.”

Beyond the walls, a low hum with screaming crescendos whistled. Police sirens. The sound had a soothing effect–– like the bugles of the relieving cavalry. Daring patted me on the back, a smug grin on her face. It was the grin of a winner. At least one of us was smiling.

“Hope you got what you were looking for, Detective Fleetfoot.” She could not be farther from the truth. “I have to get going now, but for all it’s worth, thanks for the kick-butt rescue.” Just like that, she was galloping out of the ballroom, and she would be long gone before any of the officers made it into the building.

As for me, I waited for the Cloudsdale police to kick in the door. There was plenty of time to escape but nowhere to go.

CH. 6 - Everything Had Started Out As Black And White

“That’s quite the story. I don’t know exactly how to comprehend what you’ve told me.” Deputy Chief Whiplash leaned back into his bolted chair; in the dusk lighting of the lamp, his face looked no different than it had seven years ago, when I first joined the CPD. He was a soot-grey pegasus with a bowed-out, black mustache above his mouth; his eyes sparkled behind his glasses like lime gems behind a jeweler’s loupe.

“So you stormed a hideout of Cloudsdale’s most wanted criminals, simply because you had the ‘feeling’ that your daughter, a mare named ‘Lightning Bolt,’ was being held there?” When it was Whiplash speaking, it was hard to deny the holes in my logic. “That’s a pretty wild guess.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” I answered. It was a thin excuse, even for someone who solved cases with a trail of corpses in her wake. The boss was a pony of the law, strictly working within the margins of a manual in criminal justice; he was the best of us all, and so, he could not let my rampage in Caeci District go unpunished.

“I know they’re the scum of the planet, even more so than the changelings… but you can’t just decide to become a vigilante and start striking out at the nearest crime ring. You’ve injured, what, a dozen ponies in your ‘rescue?’ Luckily enough, they were caught with evidence of their smuggling activities, so they won’t be around long enough to cause any more trouble. But you’re not going scot-free either. Reporters were lining up to know who the ‘hard-boiled cop in the leather coat’ was. Celestia knows what will become of you if they figure out it was you… or if the Wonderbolts find out what you did.”

As though he was mentally overridden by mind-probing aliens, the boss trailed off on an uncertainty for his own words. His eyes, searching for any sort of recognition, moved from the papers on his desk to one of the drawers. In it was his cache of emergency supplies: a loaded gun, duct tape, and painkillers. We would collectively swallow a bottle each on the slower days in the office. Seeing Whiplash look away once he realized he was with a civilian was the nail in the coffin for that life I led.

My detective days were over. To him, I would just be Fleetfoot the deranged Wonderbolt.

Whiplash pressed a hoof to his forehead. He was a powerful stallion consoling two rival loyalties, and all I had done was send a storm to unhinge the roof. The wind picked up outside, carrying a singing northern cardinal on its current. Whiplash leaned forward with a puckered frown. “I’ve done all I can already to cover you, but I can’t help you if you continue following this fantasy of yours–– detective on a vendetta after a daughter you don’t have?”

The fire leapt at the sides of my stomach, trying to burn through flesh to reach the condemning speaker. I had to bite my tongue to stifle any thoughtless curses from taking flight. A pony had to know when to restrain herself.

“Abandon this delusion of yours. If you get in trouble again, I won’t pull any strings for you. Sergeant Milquetoast outside will show you the backdoor. You’re the fastest sprinter I know, so you’ll be able to avoid the press easily. Now go.” Neglecting to say goodbye, Whiplash turned his chair around to face the window.

“Thank you, chief.” I was still angry, firmly entrenched in the “delusion,” but I owed the boss my gratitude. Whiplash was a figure of authority with too much riding on his wings to worry about one pegasus.

I trotted through his door and into the familiar grey-and-blue halls of the police station. Milquetoast was leaning against the wall with a clipboard in one foreleg. The cream-coated, lightweight sergeant had brought me coffee every Saturday morning. He was–– he had been one of my closest friends on the force.

“Miss Fleetfoot?” He stood to attention and pushed a strand of brown hair underneath his cap. It was not unusual to see Milquetoast act professional around strangers. But something was missing… something that left me vulnerable without it.

“Where’s my coat?”

“Sorry, miss. We can’t risk letting one of the reporters identifying you as the vigilante from the hotel raid. Besides, it’s not exactly the season to go wearing cow hide, nor the country. You’ll have to go without it… And, uh––” The sergeant looked aside, smiling sheepishly with no sense of subtlety. “Um, can I get your autograph?”

Oh right. I was still a Wonderbolt. “No.”

Milquetoast put on the facade of dismay, exaggerating in a way that was too easy to see through. “Please? It’s for my younger brother. He’s a big fan of your work.”

I had given up on the merits of fame a long time ago. His asking only brought back memories of suffering near heart attacks from stalking paparazzi. The migraine worsened. “I’m not giving out autographs at this time,” I told him with a bit more vitriol than intended.

Milquetoast dropped the act, putting on his real poker face. “That’s a shame, because it would be terrible if the great Fleetfoot fell through the clouds because some witness proved she was the vigilante at the hotel.” He had my coat; he had the proof. The fact he probably figured out what Whiplash and I were talking about would have sealed both of our careers if it got out to the public.

A pony had to know when to fold. “Alright, give me the clipboard.” Milquetoast was as giddy as a blackmailing cop could get, practically shoving the pen and board into my hoof. A photo was plastered on. The individual shown sported a cocky grin and a devious pair of eyes; everything from the way she spread her wings to the combative stance of her hooves posed a challenge. She was my Wonderbolt doppelgänger, and seeing as I was assuming her life at the moment, I did my best to write my signature the way she would have.

I shoved the clipboard into his waiting foreleg. “There, it’s done. Now, will you hold up your side of the bargain?”

“Sure! Thank you very much for your kindness, Miss Fleetfoot. Exit’s right down this way.” The sergeant began a gallant trot down the station’s west wing. It was hard not to notice the stares I was getting on the way, when so many of the onlookers were my former colleagues. I was not particularly a popular mare in the department, but at least then, they knew well about my special set of skills.

Bribery could make more than a few cops turn, but it couldn’t change the memories of friends and partners. That was a job not even the smuggling ring was capable of pulling off. No, there were forces of great magical power behind this great, big show.

“Miss Fleetfoot? We’re here.” We had come to a stop in front of the fire exit. The sergeant unlocked the door and swung it open, inviting a wall of light into the corridor. Afternoons - the point in the day when you finally realize the morning was not a dream. With the sun directly overhead, the shadows had receded to their tethered bases, leaving behind a flat world that did not deserve to be called real.

The sergeant held out a hoof for my exit. I could have knocked his other foreleg out from under him, but pegasi never landed face–first. Instead, I sprinted past him and off the edge of the cloud. Suspension lasted just a beat, but it lasted long enough to imagine another world–– one where falling really was an inevitability.

And then the rush came. I looked forward, where the horizon and its features lifted like a curtain; I looked downward, where the country, and anything bearing definite reality, steadily approached. But I only had to open my wings to rise back to the clouds. My search would eventually lead down there, I presumed, yet that time would come later.

Planning a mental route back to home, I sprinted through the sky. A few stiff muscles prevented me from going at my top speed, but everything around me still collapsed into a blur. Stuck at maximum velocity, I was disguised and hidden inside a tunnel of light. So long as air passed through my lungs and under my wings, nobody would be able to identify the pegasus racing through downtown Cloudsdale.

That, and if I slowed down, I would come to a stagnant stop. A stop would necessitate the need for another course of action, a plan. Where would I go from here? Where would I find Lightning Bolt if no one could even remember she existed? There were possible options before me, but as my raid on Caeci District had shown, the consequences for rash action were dire. I could not afford making idiotic choices, something I was unfortunately very adept at.

It had been so simple before: go after the biggest fish on my blacklist and find my daughter. Now that the smugglers were dealt with, there were no more suspects to chase, no trails to follow. A case gone cold. So there it is, I was stuck.

The cloud manor came into view. On its own tier, separated from the other influential neighborhoods by excellent foresight, it was my bastion from attention and suspicion. Gliding reduced my top speed in a matter of seconds, allowing me to pant and drop down to the front door without breaking my muzzle on the one solid part of my house.

Key beneath the doormat. Insert, turn, and open. It was just my luck that, in the millisecond it took me to see sleep as a viable option, a baseball bat came swinging and filled my vision with stars.

CH. 7 - We Long Only For The Past

A proper noir starts when the rain falls.

As soon as the weather pegasi had closed up the sky, a torrent of droplets fell with military precision. It saturated the streets underneath my hooves, giving life back to the cumulus that held up Cloudsdale and cleaning away the indecipherable graffiti messages someone had painted on the city’s walls. The veins of blood red paint followed the water as it flooded back into the cloudwork.

My legs were walking to some pre-determined location, regardless of my conscious inputs. I was a phantom inside my own body, capable only of staring out and feeling the downpour numb my brain. Coarse streaks of wintry water crawled down my forehead, over my eyes, yet my body refused to react.

From what little I could see outside my peripheral, I could distinguish what street I was on thanks to the neon signs in front of Blaze’s game corner and Cosmic’s Jewelry. Roscoe Street, Insomnes District. It was the life stream of Cloudsdale, where a single pegasus could turn ambition and a high-stakes gamble into a million dollars overnight. This was my domain back in my Wonderbolt years - that part of the city that never slept.

The rain had changed all of that, though. The streets were empty, sidewalks were devoid of life, and the lights that were not snuffed out in the fog belonged to places I had visited in the past. I glanced through a diner window, expecting to see Honey Rays at the counter, but the whole interior was empty. The diner was just another streetlight, and I was the sole pedestrian who chose to walk in the rain.

I thought I would have to walk to the end of oblivion, but someone cut the journey short for me. A hoof grasped my shoulder and pulled back, whipping me around to a brick wall. My head rebounded from the impact, sending cracks across the front of my skull. The sound alone of head against brick and mortar was like a gunshot next to my ear.

I stumbled and, at some point, ended up on my side, covering my head with my forelegs. Luckily, the concrete provided a soft landing, leaving a field of grass under my writhing form. After the first three seconds of shock, my senses began sending information to my brain again. Meanwhile, needles threaded through the cracks in my skull.

“Mom!” Then the voice of my angel. “Mom! Are you alright? Please somebody, help her! Sorian, Sorian! She’s over here!” There were tiny hooves pressing against my mane, which was remarkably dry for being out in the rain for so long. In fact, my whole body was dry and warm, except for a single, coarse streak - something thick like hot chocolate - creeping down the left side of my face.

The effort swept up a storm of a headache, but I managed to speak a coherent sentence: “Lightning, Mommy’s okay. Let Sorian handle this.”

I heard his landing next to me. “Stop saying that in front of her, Fleetfoot. What kind of name is Sorian anyways?” Soarin gave my head a leg to rest on. Fighting for motor function over my eyes took longer than expected, but eventually I was able to make out his face–– in poor, fuzzy quality. “And you were winning too, until you lost control and veered into a wall. On that note, you okay?”

Absolutely not. Nevertheless, I put on a brave face for Lightning Bolt; after taking a mouthful of earth, grinning was about as easy as pulling a bullet out of my teeth. “I’ve survived worse.”

“That’s Mom! Tough as tu-te-titahnium!” My daughter, seven years of age, was already thinking in metaphors. Seven years of hard work, tears, and blood to create the strong filly she is today. If it were not for the concussion, I would have given something more genuine than a Celestian smile.

“Let’s give your mom space, kid. These ponies will help her.” Lightning Bolt, that bouncing marshmallow with a sky blue mane and tail, stepped out of my view. Overhead, the sun was a lamplight amid darkness, filling a space meant for an ocean with a vacuum. “She was going at least over a thousand kilometers per hour… sustained concussion…”

Soarin’s voice suddenly dropped away as gravity shifted. Without a single hair rustled, my body was transported across a fickle landscape. The grass beneath me faded, and my back found a new cushion on hard, wet concrete. My best friend’s voice made a reappearance, yet it was distorted and less firm in tone, like someone under extreme stress: “What did you think would happen? You hit her with a BASEBALL BAT!”

Two hooves gripped my shoulders and lifted me off the ground. I had not gotten one moment of purchase in this new world when I was thrown against a brick wall. Again. “Stay still and stay quiet!” shouted a different voice. My eyes were once again out of focus, catching the outline of an ear and mane before they went cross again as a hoof struck my chin.

I felt it again. Rain. It robbed me of the warmth I had felt in that field with my daughter and Soarin. I reached out for my legs, but they were unresponsive, gone. The body I inhabited was becoming a coffin, growing colder with each breath. Another punch across the same cheek shot the needles into my brain. The impact set fire to any remaining connections to my senses. Senses gone. Discombobulation.

Over my attacker’s shoulder, I could make out a floating screen of graffiti. Blood red paint. Someone had written a sentence out in a horrible rush, leaving me to decipher his or her manic handwriting with a severe––

The next hit came between the eyes, shooting my head back into brick again. Again. At that point, too scattered to register the pain were the nerves in my brain. The attacker still had my lifeless body up against the wall, waiting for… waiting. I had enough motor control left, however, to blink the rain droplets out of my eyes. The red graffiti made a reappearance on the patch of ground I was staring at; I only needed a moment… maybe a minute… to figure out what it was saying: “HONOR AMONG WE WHO ARE ABOUT TO DIE.”

No. Blink again. This time it said, “MIRRORS ARE MORE FUN THAN-”

This time… blink again: “YOUR BLOOD AND HOPE ARE IN THEIR CLAWS.”

The tension on my shoulders cut slack, and I fell to the ground unceremoniously. Once my head stopped bobbing, I saw him. Yes, the attacker too–– he was face down in the graffiti, splashing the ink all over the concrete. What I meant was I saw him: the stallion with the leather coat, my knight in shining silhouette, shrouded in front of a neon store sign. He stepped over the other guy and held me with a firm urgency.

“I’ve got you… just don’t think about lights and the great beyond for a couple minutes while I call for an ambulance.” His voice was as euphonious as a grand piano, pulling me from the darkening borders of my vision with every syllable spoken. I looked up again; the rain had stopped. It was warm again.

“Don’t go.” Don’t go, not now. Give me this moment, Goddesses, and let it run for as long as you could hold back time. Give me what you took away from me.

“Only for a few seconds, I promise.” The stallion positioned me comfortably against the wall. He got up on four hooves and looked back to me with a smile. A load of whitewash, Whitewash.

I had just a moment to see my husband again, then time resumed. He was gone to find the nearest pay phone, after which he would return, ride in the ambulance with me, wait for me to wake up in the hospital, and introduce himself half a day later.

The rain resumed and cleaned out the crime scene. I only had to blink to see the memory washed into the sewers. Whitewash… he was not coming back..

CH. 8 - The World Gets Too Small For Comfort

My conscience returned to the world of the waking, only to be struck by a pain much worse and less retrospective than my beatdown in the nightmare. Around me were scattered mementos from my alternate life or scant indulgences that only large paychecks and a lack of consumer common sense could buy. I was home, planted right in the middle of my living room with a raging bull of a headache.

I was just about to lift a leg to feel the concussion, but it came up against rope. In my unconsciousness, someone had tied me to a kitchen chair with rope long enough to circumscribe my torso, wings, and forelegs three times. I struggled anyways, testing the quality of the knots. They gave no leeway. My captors were professionals in their work, and there was only one group I was aware of that would dare to assault me in my own home.

Just my luck then. I knew exactly who was standing outside my point of view. “Alright, you smuggler hounds, you finally made a catch! Sorry about the mess in the hotel. I’m sure your operation was nothing more than a few million dollars.” I shouted to my captors. They had a baseball bat, and I was tied to a chair. Angering them was the smart thing to do.

The baseball bat landed gently on my muzzle, letting me soak in the plastered label: “Property of the Wonderbolts.” It fell out of view and presented the captain herself, standing before me with a surprisingly leveled frown.

Me and my luck…

“Guess that confirms our suspicions then, Soarin,” Spitfire said with the bat under one hoof. “Who would’ve thought our very own Fleetfoot was a crime-fighting vigilante!”

Me and my hasty mouth…

Speaking of my closest friend, Spitfire gestured with a nod to the other pony I assumed to be Soarin. Sure enough, the free-loading scumbag who had put a night of drinking on my bills walked within my peripheral vision. But the way he did so, how he practically maneuvered around me with a hesitation in each step and a diverting gaze, struck all the wrong notes.

The Soarin I knew would stride right next to me and give me a chance to spit in rage at his face; his insignificant other tread softly as though one feather from my body could bowl him over. ‘Soarin’ noticed my glaring and tried to hide behind a friend’s smile, but he dropped it wisely and stood silent right by Spitfire.

“Don’t get angry at him, Fleetfoot. He came here as support.” So it was an intervention. The ropes and the bat to the face had me fooled.

I snorted. “Support? Is that why you hit me with a baseball bat?”

The most I got as far as reparations for my concussion was a shrug. “You wouldn’t have cooperated, otherwise. But hey, there’s no bruises or scars or anything! It’s the strangest thing: violence, that is. Fascinating, really. But the point is we’re here to snap sense into you.”

They actually believed I had lost my head, wrapped up in a nutcase conspiracy about convenient memory loss and ponies who do not exist. After my rampage in Caeci District, they had the justification they needed to get me institutionalized.

I needed to watch what I said next. If they started looking at me like Jetstream after giving a presentation on black chariots and the master puppeteer, any chance of finding Lightning Bolt would be lost forever. I fell back against the chair and started opening their ears: “I’m not insane.”

“I don’t think so either, Chandler, but sane ponies tend to avoid lighting up smuggler hideouts like a Pinkie Pie surprise party.” Spitfire pulled a photo from under her wing and tossed it on my left knee. It was a black and white freeze frame of a trail of ponies, all of whom had been on the receiving end of a blunderbuss, resting on a curb with streamers hanging off their bodies.

“I had my suspicions, Spitfire. They did… they had done harm to me in the past. I thought they had her––”

“You mean Lightning Bolt? Your daughter?” Then came the yelling. She made her advance, managing to startle both me and Soarin. “I don’t know how this idea even got into your head. You’re the last person I’d expect to play pretend!”

My teeth remained clenched. Of course she had no clue. No memory of her. My daughter was real, and I needed to restrain myself for her.

“Fleetfoot, what she’s trying to say––” Spitfire only had to slam the baseball bat through the cloud floor for Soarin to shut it.

“What I’m trying to say is that Lightning Bolt doesn’t exist. We checked. Every Wonderbolt after practice went looking for any traces of her in the city. No one’s ever heard the name!” Spitfire was in the entirety of my vision now. I stared into the pupils, recognizing the tied-up mare in the reflection. She stared right back, having never lost her conviction even as the world closed in and pulled the ropes tighter. We exchanged nods, letting each other know we were still in the right.

“You understand. We’re here to help you,” Spitfire whispered. Her moment of fury had dissipated in a single breath. Defying all expectations, she backed off and placed the bat down beside a couch to my left.

I sighed and waved the white flag. It was best to surrender now and fight when the time was right. Let them know they had me. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Spitfire.” There were two motions to follow next: bring the eyes down to the ropes, make the head follow soon after. I muttered the next bit like this world’s Soarin would: “It’s so confusing. I–I just woke up and felt like a part of me was taken from me. But instead of seeking help, I’ve just lashed out and hurt everyone around me.”

“Hey.” I lifted my eyes and saw that Spitfire, and even Soarin, had gotten closer. “All your antics can be forgiven. You just needed to talk about it.” A yellow hoof went up and shook gently. Soarin had his signal; I had my trigger. The colt, bravely putting on a poor smile, went to work on the ropes holding me.

The next few tugs pumped adrenaline prematurely into my limbs. Soarin was directly on my right, pulling away at the knots and sealing his own fate. Not that he deserved what was coming––well, maybe not entirely––but he was an obstacle. The binding slackened.

My forelegs and wings shot out and ripped through the ropes. The remaining pieces and the black-and-white photo began their descent to the floor as I began my ascent out of the chair. My right hoof locked at a crooked angle and swung with the momentum of my body until it met considerable resistance under Soarin’s chin. The punch took his muzzle with it, twisting the stallion on his tail and setting him on a crash course for the ground.

Using my wings as counterbalance, I stood on my hindlegs and veered left. Spitfire stared back with mouth agape. The remains of the rope completed their descent in a halo around me. Spitfire responded on cue, “Soarin!”

She made for the baseball bat. I had the chair in my hooves already. In the time Spitfire took to grab the baseball bat in her mouth, I had the chair flipped so its legs pointed outwards like a long spear. Studying my captain as I had all those years ago, I took up a defensive stance and braced for the reckless charge.

A thud behind me announced that Soarin had reached his destination.

Propelling herself with a quick flap of her wings, Spitfire made a swing for me. A meter of plywood separated her bat and my face, providing a convenient spot for her bat to land within. The bat found solid purchase on one of the lower legs, allowing me to promptly flick it out of Spitfire’s grasp with a twist of the chair. Caught unarmed, Spitfire tried to propel herself back, but I simply charged before she could do so.

The bottom of the chair’s seat struck my captain’s chest and ended the engagement. I brought the chair down and pinned her to the floor, allowing the legs to bar her for a few seconds. A few seconds. The best head start a sprinter could ask for against the Wonderbolts.

I was already in flight by the time I reached the front door. Outside, an abyss waited to take me in and mask my departure. The stars out west held sanctuary for fugitives. They gave me time to find Lightning Bolt. When I did find her, everything would be okay. I just had to find her. Everything else would be secondary.

Some sort of shadow carved a path through the stars. It temporarily cut their light as it moved. I only noticed what was rocketing towards me when cyan fell over my vision. The projectile lodged itself against my neck, reversing my direction without changing the speed. I was dragged across the cloud floor on my back until my head bumped into Soarin’s prone form.

Loyalty herself had taken me right back through the threshold and away from my daughter. For her part, she was pretty happy about the turn of events. A blissful grin adorned her face, sparkling in the living room lights alongside her magenta eyes. “Hi,” Rainbow Dash squeaked.

CH. Nine - There is No Choice

The sun began its crawl up the velvet canvas of night not soon after I had left Cloudsdale’s boundaries. The contours of purple spread over the mountains like spilled wine; as my flight north went on, hues of red and green began manifesting themselves in the mixture. My long flight gave me ample time to enjoy the slow ascent of the sun. In this drugged–up reality, the subtle was something of a haven for the sane.

Well, I was temporarily ‘clinically insane.’ The words were the only terms I had to agree to, and in exchange, I had more time to piece the mystery together. There were no leads to follow in this case–– no powerful shadow organizations or mustache–swirling smugglers to stomp out. All I had was my trigger hoof and my gut instinct as a detective.

It was still too dark to make out anything of the country below. A void filled the expanse up to the border that separated the night sky and the dawn. Just peering into it made my brain numb. This early in the morning, it was as though rural Equestria was a toy box, tucked under the bed until the next playtime. None of those fluorescent colors or unnatural smiles would come out unless a child made use of it.

I was hardly aware that I was slowing until Jetstream passed me. The autumn–colored pegasus was the sight that pulled me out of the trance. She gave me a knowing glance as I caught up.

Jetstream flew level with me on my 3 o’clock, refusing to let my eyes shy away from hers. The mad pony knew I would have to acknowledge her to watch the dawn. “Frightening thought, ain’t it?” she asked. Curse my curiosity. She finally had her audience.

I answered, “What is?”

“The possibility that we could all be mere playthings in a world crafted for someone’s amusement. I see what you see, Fleetfoot.”

“What? How did you know what I was thinking…? Actually, don’t answer that.” Behind Jetstream’s head, to the east, the beginning of the day was approaching. It was a sight to die for.

Gold laced the outlines of mountains and cities: the embroidery of the sun herself. Whatever madness I had seen in the void below faded into a footnote in my mind as the features of the land lit up. The horrid thought I had looking into its depths was finally erased as the staccato singing of the lark echoed from a lonely corner below.

At least, I was sure it was a lark.

It took me a moment to remember the pony flying next to me. Another moment longer to find the question that had been pestering me: “Jetstream, why again are you coming with us?”

–

10 hours earlier.

“Hi,” Rainbow Dash squeaked.

I grunted in response. Loyalty had all my legs pinned under hers, easily brushing aside any of my attempts to overpower her. So much for my flawless escape.

“Heh. Nice work, Rainbow Dash!” Spitfire approached us with a brazen smile. To add injury to insult, she ruffled my mane and whispered in my ear, “You’re getting predictable, Hemingway. This whole ‘violence is always the answer’ vigilante act is starting to get old. Luckily, we brought our biggest fan along as backup.”

Spitfire then stood up and walked over to where Soarin’s crumpled form lied. She gave him a nudge with her hoof, only to garner a groan in response. Weakling. “C’mon Soarin, this wouldn’t be the first time you got punched in the face. Get up.”

She left me with our “biggest fan.” I did not know what was more horrifying at the moment, the fact that she was crushing my legs under her weight or the fact that she had not blinked once this whole time. Had she put on clown makeup, she would have realized all my childhood nightmares.

Rainbow hardly seemed to notice though. She was preoccupied with something Spitfire said: “Did you hear what Spitfire said! She acknowledged me as your biggest fan! Oh my gosh, I don’t even know how to thank you. If you hadn’t lost your mind, I wouldn’t have ever had the chance to help out the Wonderbolts! Hope you didn’t mind the tackle… forward momentum and all that physical science. Blame the egghead stuff. But I was fast, right?”

I chose my next words carefully, holding back a melting pot of explicits for someone who really deserved it. And someone who could not strangle me on the spot. “Yeah. Very fast. I barely saw you flying at me.”

“Thanks! I’m glad to help! So… uh, what can I do for you, Fleetfoot? Besides letting you go.” As far as I had heard, Loyalty had been one of the harsher elements in Celestia’s regime. Stories of cruel and unusual punishment were common from folks who had been to Ponyville–– often ironically justified by a need to re–educate transgressors in “the principles of friendship.” In short, she was the totalitarian monarch’s enforcer.

With the slightest hint of strain, I responded, “You could lessen the weight on my legs.” I had no idea what I expected, asking Celestia’s most feared henchpony for mercy. She seemed like a well-intentioned type, but good intentions never entailed a good pony.

“Heh. Sorry about that,” she said, fluttering on her wings to take a majority of her weight off of me. Funny thing was that sometimes you could be wrong. It was certainly not the first and most humiliating time I had to recall that advice. But for the Goddesses’ sake, this was Loyalty herself. What was this world coming to? “Fleetfoot? Are you okay? You look a little out of it.”

“I’m fine! I’m fine,” I answered with composure. Being a hardened veteran of Cloudsdale’s underworld, I thought I had seen it all. Now that I had been given reprieve by the monarch’s own fanatic enforcer, I knew for certain I had seen it all.

Rainbow Dash cocked her head to the side, staring at me with raised eyebrows. The mare looked as though she had never seen anyone monologue to herself. I returned the expression in silence. We spent the rest of the time like that until Soarin was back on his four noodle legs.

“S–she punched me! Ah, it still burns!” the whiney Wonderbolt whimpered. Soarin looked not the least bit like he had at the bar last night. It was as though all his redeeming qualities had been expurgated so as to leave only a sobbing and crass child in a stallion’s body. That did not mean I was sorry for the haymaker.

“Yeah, and I took a chair to the chest. Look at me, Soarin! Hardly a scratch,” Spitfire casually boasted. She trotted around my head to stand next to Rainbow Dash. “Just you wait, Fleetfoot. After therapy’s over, we’ll work you as hard as a draft horse!”

“Like Big Macintosh, ma’am?” Rainbow grinned. Now it was the devil smiling at me–– Loyalty as I heard from the rumors.

“Yeah! Like Macintosh!” Spitfire paused. “That’s Applejack’s brother?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“At ease!” If I remembered Wonderbolt training correctly, then draft horse training would leave me a shell of my former self. I would sooner take gunshots to the chest than fly through those sessions again! Therapy it was then.

I answered through clenched teeth, “Fine, take me to a therapist. Cure me, rehabilitate me, do whatever you want to return me to the sane herd.”

Spitfire hardly tried to hide her smirk. Sure, her teammate was getting committed; all that mattered then was that she had won. “There, there, Fleetfoot. The therapist Rainbow Dash found for you will have you fixed in no time.”

Wait a minute, what!? Who let this mare choose the therapist?

Rainbow’s grin, miraculously, kept growing. She said, “My friend’s an expert! With a bit of persuasion from me, I got you booked for an entire week at her place in Ponyville.”

A whole week. I was going to need a drink before this night was over.

–

2 hours later.

“I forgot alcohol didn’t exist here.” Same way I had forgotten my daughter the first time I had been here. It seemed I was just as adept at self–loathing sober as I was drunk. Solar Wind––or Star Hunter, whatever it was––had reclined himself to little more than an outlet for my ramblings.

“Mhmm.” The navy blue bartender was cleaning an empty counter. I had stopped by on a slow night. He and I had just each other for company. It was little wonder how he was such a good listener, considering how many sentimental ponies he surrounded himself with.

I took a swig of water. The glass was half empty when it fell back on the counter. Star Hunter was not my friend, not the one I remembered, but if there was one thing that remained constant, it was that I could tell him anything. So I did.

“They’ve gotten me committed, Sol– Star Hunter.”

“Is that so? I was worrying that Spitfire would’ve never found you after you left earlier today.”

“No, she tracked me down. I was cornered, and my only option was to accept therapy. I’ll be gone for an entire week to see some mad psychiatrist in Ponyville. Can you believe that?”

Star Hunter showed no disbelief. Stoic as ever. “Now, you don’t know if the psychiatrist’s mad.”

“Rainbow Dash suggested her.”

“May the Goddesses see you through this week.”

I emptied my glass to that. Star Hunter followed suit with a mug of cider. We sat there for a spell, peering at the bottoms of our respective drinks. It was just like old times–– as close as I would get to the past.

“I should get going. I’ll need a short nap before I fly north.” I threw a few bits on the counter for the glass and conversation. They were terribly inconvenient compared to dollars, but I apparently had plenty to spare. The forgotten benefits of being a Wonderbolt. I began my trot out of the tavern.

“Fleetfoot.” I stopped at the entrance. The orange light was all that held against Pulsant District’s persistent darkness. I was in no hurry to rush back out there. My head turned to look at Star Hunter, who wore sympathy like a funeral veil on his face. “I’m sorry about everything that’s been happening to you.”

It was Solar Wind’s way of maintaining neutrality in my war on reality. It did not beg forgiveness. He knew better. I wished I could have stayed longer in that bar; everything I still recognized was inside this bastion.

I wished. “Good night, Star Hunter.”

“Night, Fleetfoot.”

–

Back in the present.

Night had rolled back entirely. The day was past the threshold of dawn, settling at last on a foggy morning above Equestria. Only I seemed to notice though; Jetstream was too busy saying something.

“What did you say?”

Jetstream snorted in annoyance. “I said that I was coming along, because I have a friend in Ponyville I need to talk to right now. I figured, since you and Rainbow Dash were flying there today, that I would join you two!”

“Jetstream, is it?” Rainbow fell back and took to my 9 o’clock. She had some rather impressive hearing, considering the 50 meter between me and her. “I’m not sure why you chose to fly out this early. No offense or anything, but you don’t look like a morning pegasus.”

Jetstream smiled. No bags under her eyes, no sour mood. I never found out how she made her energy reserves last an eternity. “I’m the morning paper pony! It’s part of my job to wake up early.”

Rainbow was scrutinizing her still. She was taking her escort duty seriously. “Don’t you have a job right now?” she asked.

“I took a day off today. I never use any of my sick days.”

“Heh. Wish I could say the same. All mine were used up two months ago!”

I tuned out their exchange. Seeing as Ponyville was in sight, I took the time to establish my agenda. Of the highest priority was finding my daughter, of course. If what Spitfire had told me was correct, then Lightning Bolt was not in Cloudsdale. I would need a higher caliber of authority to help me find her, someone I knew lived in the pastoral town. After that, there was figuring out what had happened to Equestria overnight and determining if this case was actually all in my head.

Then there was therapy.

Ponyville was a neat gathering of archaic houses and farms situated around a pristine river. Even this place was not spared from sanitization. If the new Cloudsdale had the image of a child’s coloring book, then Ponyville was the sugar–topped capital of Equestria’s great toy box.

What an eyesore.

CH. Ten - You Piece Together a Jigsaw...

Rainbow Dash took point. Her mane and tail served as approach lights for our entourage. Just as we reached Ponyville’s outskirts, she swerved left over a field of apple trees. Jetstream and I changed course accordingly. As much as I blamed Loyalty for dragging me here, I had to at least commend her for discretion. She was purposely skirting around the areas where the populace was most concentrated; she was keeping me off the radar.

We continued flying past the apple farm into the plains. Coarse grass covered the knolls surrounding town; each blade was a finely polished mirror, millions of which were bundled together in an overlapping pattern like dragon scales. When sunlight swept over the knolls, the hills sparkled. It was fitting for Arcadia to have a picturesque welcoming mat.

At last, Rainbow began declining in altitude. Her landing site was a patch of trees on one of the lesser travelled trails into town. While Jetstream and I grounded, Rainbow had gone ahead to scout the area, swinging her gaze from the soil to the canopies. There was something obviously missing here.

I asked, “Were you expecting the one–pony band to play us some fanfare upon our entrance?”

“That’s just it. Pinkie Pie’s not here.” Rainbow Dash flew up and searched in all four cardinal directions. The element of Laughter had a reputation as Ponyville’s border patrol officer. Its only one. From the rumors I heard, she knew where each and every citizen was at any given time of the day. The fact she was not popping out to greet us was enough to send a chill in my spine–– she could be watching us from another dimension for all we knew.

Jetstream seemed not at all bothered. She offered, “Perhaps she’s still working at Sugarcube Corner?” Rainbow turned with her mouth open and eyes narrowed. “She’s the friend I’m supposed to be meeting. That’s how I know.” It was a convincing enough answer. Rainbow fell back down to us.

“Alright, but this’ll make getting to the library all the more difficult.” Rainbow shrugged and motioned to me with a hoof. “C’mon. We’ll use the rooftops. The pegasi here keep their eyes on the clouds. Fleetfoot, you won’t get noticed so long as you keep up with me. And Jetstream…? Uh, why don’t you just go see Pinkie Pie.”

The mail mare shrugged and said goodbye with an odd salute. She marched off into town before I could fully appreciate the absurd gesture. Knowing Jetstream, it made sense why she and Pinkie Pie were long distance correspondents.

“Let’s roll.” I tailed Rainbow Dash through the foliage. We trotted out of the trees into a wheat field, where all her stealth skills began kicking in. She crouched low, hugging the ground and advancing with deliberate, silent steps. Disregarding the fact that rainbow colors blended in with gold wheat about as well as a hopped–up DJ in Canterlot Concert Hall, I would say she was sneaking quite well.

I stayed behind Loyalty, not quite dropping to the ground but still crouching low. Recognition in a small town like this would have meant the end of me: both in my Wonderbolt career and in my sanity. I could only imagine the sensation my story would make, considering why I was here. These ponies would never leave me alone once they knew.

Somehow, not a soul had noticed us as we stopped at the end of the wheat field.

Rainbow surveyed the expanse before us. A dirt path, a red fence, and some bales of hay stood in that order between us and the nearest households. The only witness around was a listless mule by the fence, who looked as though even the end of the world could not stir a reaction. Naturally, Rainbow held us back for the amount of time it would have taken us to just walk the distance.

After about another minute, she turned to me with a sly grin. “Okay, so here’s the plan–– I’ll take the lead and make a sprint to the fence. Once I’m over, you should do the same. As soon as that cloud over there passes over the sun, I’ll make my way between the bales there, there, and there. Meanwhile, you crawl under the fence and crawl to the bale there. Don’t worry about the mule; I’ll create a distraction once I’m at the houses. Once the wind is favorable, cover the rest of the distance with your wings and wait for me on that roof there!”

“Okay,” I answered.

“Great! I’ll see you at the rendezvous point. Wow, I can’t believe this is actually happening!” Rainbow stretched and poised herself for the first sprint. “Let’s move.” In an instant, she was out of the wheat stocks and out on the dirt path.

Three seconds later, I trotted after her. I looked both ways on the path before I crossed. I reached the fence and climbed over without even an ear twitch from the mule. Rainbow was up pulling together clouds for what I presumed to be the distraction. Reaching the roof after passing the bales of hay was only a matter of a swift kick and flutter. My hooves found easy footing on the straw framework. From then on, it was only a matter of waiting at the ‘rendezvous point.’

Only a few seconds later, Rainbow was in front of me. Her frown looked more hurt than annoyed. “You didn’t wait for your cue,” she muttered.

“No one saw me. That’s all that matters.” I was in a hurry to meet this therapist and get this session done and over with. But for all the nonsense I had gone through, I still hated hurting ponies with good intentions. Luckily, I knew exactly how to cheer up my ‘biggest fan’: “Hey Rainbow, I’ll race you to the library.”

At the mention of a race, her eyes lit up as though they secretly harbored the light of the Crystal Empire itself. Everything from her smile to her mane testified to her fiery character. It was like looking into a photograph taken a decade earlier–– the feeling of youth lost and passions dimmed. Where I had a weakening hearth, Rainbow had a towering inferno. The potential for impossible feats still raged in her veins, and there was nothing an old relic like me could do to smother it.

“I accept! Treehouse in the center of town!” She pointed toward a looming tree about 400 meters away. The layout of Ponyville provided a perfect cross–country track of short jumps and roofs. Rainbow tensed for a galloping start the moment I stepped up to the starting line. “Ready? Okay. One, two, three! Go!”

We leapt at the same time, crossing over an alleyway with a unicorn mare underneath. Our shadows passed over her, causing her to stop in place. By the time she thought to look up, we would already be three houses away. After the first jump, the adrenaline began kicking in. The retired racer in me took over my senses and mind, pushing the limits of aged muscles purely for the purpose of beating Rainbow Dash.

The other racer had a lead of three paces. Her hooves landed on the roof with precision, taking only the minimum amount of time to gain a footing before taking to the air again. My hooves were hardly as graceful, struggling a millisecond too long to find purchase. The odd angles on the roofs killed my momentum and ended any chance I had of catching her. The other racer maintained balance as though gravity was never a factor to consider.

She jumped to the next roof a second before I did. This gap was at least twice the size of the last one, and I lacked the momentum to sail the whole length. The drop came before I could bring all four legs on the roof. I collided chest–first with the edge of the house, barely clinging to the edge with my hooves. Now it was over.

A kick off the wooden exterior with my hind legs helped me pull myself from the edge. A good five seconds had gone by with zero distance covered. I would be struggling another three to return back to the velocity I started with. The other racer cleared four houses in my delay. The injury was possibly serious, but I was refused reprieve. My inner Wonderbolt was as good as any painkiller, numbing the pain so it was barely more noticeable than a broken rib.

My legs kicked into high gear, making up for the terrain with pure willpower. The next four roofs went by like hurdles; they were cleared with little strain on my muscles. Ignoring the shortage of breath and dripping sweat, I was at my prime once more! The rest of the race was a blur, a series of jumps with nothing noteworthy passing through my mind.

I could have mentioned the fact that Rainbow Dash had reached the library’s balcony a good ten seconds before me, but that was just a foregone conclusion. Where was the satisfaction in knowing that?

When my hooves finally touched wood, I was released from my past self. The strength she had given me faded, and my head cleared enough for a status report. I was gasping for breath, possibly from some sort of internal damage to my lungs, but otherwise I was perfectly fine. Rainbow cleared her forehead of sweat and grinned her winner’s grin. It was a victory she would never live down.

“Wow… now, that’s a race! Old–fashioned roof hopping… like ninjas!” Rainbow was short on breath, but her energy was certainly still plentiful. She stretched some taut muscles as she approached the balcony entrance. Strangely enough, someone had the idea of carving a library into the hollowed interior of a tree. The balcony was certainly a cultured addition, but I doubt the owner of this place was someone from Canterlot.

“Who exactly is this therapist you found, Rainbow?” I asked. Catching my breath had taken a little longer than normal; I would need to have that examined later.

Rainbow opened the door leading inside. With a gleeful smile, she waved me over. “See for yourself!” I took my time trotting over. From the looks of it, the library was designed to make maximum use of the space inside the tree. It was made with circular infrastructure, shelves carved into the walls and windows inserted haphazardly above them. Either because construction time had run out or because the tree was a nightmare to decorate, the original reddish brown color had been left untouched.

At the center of it all, I spotted a purple unicorn mare sitting at a round table with a Neo–Discordian stallion head statue. She was thoroughly absorbed by a tome. Rainbow coughed conspicuously and brought her attention to us. That was when I noticed the wings.

“You got the Princess of Friendship to be my therapist?” I kept my eyes on the alicorn, who apparently gave not a single thought to the fact we snuck in through the balcony. Twilight Sparkle. I never thought the day would come when I had to confront her. The stories about her… well, they did not give a very nice impression.

Rainbow nudged me with her head. “Go greet yourself! Don’t be shy!” With more physical coercion on her part than cooperation on my part, I eventually got down the stairs and stood face to face with the Princess.

“Your Highness.” I bowed for all I was worth. That ended up drawing a sigh from the Princess. So much for making a proper introduction. “My name is Fleetfoot.”

“Yes, I’ve been told about you from Rainbow Dash. Numerous times in fact… You can stop bowing now.” I raised my head and dared to look the Princess in the eyes. Twilight Sparkle was doing her best to put up a smile, but it was clear as day that I had done something wrong. She read me surprisingly quick. “I just don’t want anyone bowing for me. That’s it. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

A ruler who equated herself to her subjects. I was possibly the worst mare to ask for an analysis of the Princesses, but I could say at least that Twilight Sparkle was still adjusting to her position. Not that the fact gave me any excuse to talk to her the wrong way.

“Well, since we both know each other. Let’s focus on the elephant in the room!” Twilight Sparkle activated her magic and pulled a Freudian couch out from somewhere unseen. “As you might have guessed, I will be your therapist for this week!”

My mind went blank.

She continued, “Rainbow told me only a day ago about your… condition… but by coincidence, I read the necessary books on psychology weeks earlier! Now, I’ll need you to lie down on this couch and tell me a bit about yourself.”

Lie down on the couch. Rest. Yeah, that was what I needed right now.

Chapter Eleven - ...And the Final Picture is You Finishing that Same Puzzle

“Tell me about this dream you had.”

Staring up at the high ceiling, that portion of the room that the light refused to touch, I felt at ease–– at home, at the one place I could stop thinking about the present. I had lived the past seven years in my own dark pit, putting my sorrows behind a pint of alcohol. My happiness came in the moments between drunkenness and the hangover–– cheery flashbacks that reminded me how far I had fallen.

The last memory I relived was my first encounter with the pony I married. He had stopped my attacker and called an ambulance. He had waited for me at the hospital by my bed. That colt even stayed all night, half dead from the look of his slouch. I could replay that memory for an eternity no matter the pain.

“Who was your husband?”

A detective of the hard–boiled variant. He had a brooding, bleak outlook on everything–– a poet essentially. You could sleep like a baby to the metaphors he spouted. That is, if you could get him to start monologuing.

This couch was something heavenly. The fabric worked on its own, curing stiff muscles and external injuries as though they were paper cuts. Like the feathered wings of your lover.

Right, my husband. After that incident, I had him wrapped around my hoof. Believe me, I was no femme fatale, but I saw someone I wanted and I was young. He must have known he had fallen for me, but he played along all the same. We both knew how this would end. Needless to say, the proposal and ring came only four months after that night.

“Then you had a child.”

Lightning Bolt. The one pony left I lived for. Only the Goddesses knew what I would give to have her back, but here I was, lying on a couch and explaining my history to the therapist who got her credentials from a how–to book. She was out there, somewhere. No matter what everyone else said, she was real and alive.

“...what happened to your husband?”

Divorce.

“Was that why you quit the Wonderbolts as you claim?”

No. Quitting was just a necessary step in becoming a detective myself. I had to distance myself from that lifestyle to crack open the criminal underworld. I needed a wider, less naive, perspective.

Against my body’s pleas, I sat upright on the couch. I looked Twilight Sparkle in the eyes as I spoke, “I’m sorry, your Highness. I think I’m done answering questions.” Going against her wishes was a foolish way to die, but that was as far as she would get probing my past. That couch had betrayed me, softening up my defenses for her investigation. You could never truly be safe, even at home.

Twilight Sparkle did her best not to give away her reaction. Her face remained stoic, a skill she had no doubt been developing since her ascension. “Okay. And please, call me Twilight.” I nodded in adherence to the Princess.

“Let’s move on to the picture test.” With her magic, she reached for an insignificant white box. The clipboard with her notes was held high above her head, turned away from me. At about that time, the door swung open and in marched Rainbow Dash with an insignificant white box of her own on her back.

“Sorry I took so long! The ‘Cut And Dried’ Battalion suddenly decided that carrying a box of clothes for a friend was suspicious activity.” She shut the door with a hindleg and sauntered over.

The Princess set the pictures down––there was no way I would have subjected myself to the picture test––and glanced at Rainbow’s box. “They’re just paranoid. After all this time, they still believe there are changeling infiltrators in Ponyville. But I’ll talk to the colonel about protocol after this session.” I had not a clue what they were talking about, but I assumed it had to do with some kind of local militia or royal guard detachment.

As Rainbow set down the box, she turned to me with an inquisitive look. She said, “I don’t know what it is about your appearance, Fleetfoot, but I’m getting some serious déjà vu here. It feels like I’ve done this before, except with another pony.”

“Blue and white aren’t exactly a rare combination of colors among ponies,” I responded. “What kind of disguise do you have for me?”

Rainbow flipped the lid off the box and unveiled its contents: sunglasses, a weathered trenchcoat, a pith helmet, an olive green collared shirt… wait a moment. Where had I seen these?

Twilight Sparkle beat me to the revelation with a facehoof. In a perfect deadpan monotone, she said, “You got her a Daring Do costume.”

Rainbow had foreseen this reaction: she was ready with an explanation after a second of waving her forelegs around in confused gestures. “Hear me out, Twilight. Fleetfoot is about the same size as me. She has my build. Seeing as we normally don’t wear clothes, I didn’t have much wear! Then, I found the Nightmare Night costume Rarity made as a commission for me. It’s the perfect size and completely fashionable in this season!”

Even my leather coat would have been more fashionable and less conspicuous than this stuff. The Princess levitated out the trenchcoat and sunglasses and shoved the costume aside. “I’ll need some sort of hat,” I added. “My mane is one of a kind.”

Twilight Sparkle shook her head at Rainbow, who resigned herself to reading some tree ring patterns on the wall. The Princess passed the trenchcoat and sunglasses over to me. “Spike’s got a fedora somewhere in here.” With that, she was gone in a flash. Teleportation from the looks of it. Why she could not just walk to wherever she needed to be was lost on me. I supposed the impracticality was a unicorn thing.

I made sure also to push Twilight Sparkle’s picture box under the couch.

Rainbow picked up the box in which her costume lay. “Whatever. I’ll find some use for this wear eventually.” She noticed my staring and gave a forced chuckle. I had not taken Rainbow to be into reading, but then again, the least likely had proven to occur to me time after time. “Yeah. I’m sort of an Egghead, like that. It’s a good book series though! Right? You must have read at least one novel!”

As I put on the sunglasses, I remembered my surprising encounter in Caeci District. I neglected to tell her I had met the protagonist herself. “It’s not my favorite genre, but yes, the stories are entertaining.”

“Hey, you know I started a fan club here? A Daring Do fan club! You should visit, then we could talk about the upcoming title.”

“I’ll consider.” Right on cue, Twilight Sparkle teleported back into the room with us. A flamboyant white fedora hovered in her magic field.

“Spike had left in such a hurry that he hardly bothered to put this thing on the hat rack.” The Princess audibly gasped in disgust. “That rack had only one purpose, and he neglected it! Next thing you know, he’s going to ‘forget’ the fact we have separate closets for laundry and cleaning supplies… but I digress.” She took a deep breath and straightened her neck out with practiced bravado. “Back to the point. Fleetfoot, I know that this disguise is probably one of the worst ideas we’ve ever had, but Ponyville is a place where odd things are surprisingly normal. So long as you try to act, um, happy, you and Rainbow Dash should be able to walk through town with no problems.”

The only other option was to embrace harassment by the locals. The trenchcoat was too big for my frame, but it covered up my cutie mark. And by some miracle, my mane was tamed by the ridiculous hat. Now I looked like a proper private eye, the sort you would see on the billboards for the latest B-movie.

“That’s hideous.” Rainbow, at least, had a reasonable fashion sense. I turned around to give the two elements a full look of the disguise. Twilight Sparkle shrugged and gave me a strained smile. It would have to do.

“It will have to do.” Rainbow galloped to the door. “C’mon, I want to show you around town and where we’ll be staying!”

“Wait, we still have to do the picture test!” Twilight Sparkle reached for her picture box. She looked at the spot where she had left it and found only empty space. “What? I had it right––”

“No worries, your Highness.” I removed the fedora in a respectful gesture and nodded. “We can continue where we left off tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll find the pictures by then.” That was the farthest I would take this act. It was better to leave while she was still looking, lest she put two and two together. Then, I would be dead.

“Fleetfoot.” The Princess called on me just as I reached the threshold. Rainbow waited on the outside, looking around in the least inconspicuous way possible. I turned and prepared to pay for my insolence. “I’ll look into finding your daughter.”

I had been wrong about many ponies in this world and underestimated their willingness to help. The same conscience that had told me to never trust a benefactor turned out to be the backstabbing traitor I was watching out for. Hearing the Princess of Friendship herself state her commitment twisted the knife as a needed emphasis.

What did I know? I was an ex–cop in a world that was not my own, trying to isolate myself from the ponies who could help me return to normalcy. They were extending a hoof of friendship, and I was responding with two hand cannons and a wet blanket.

Either that or I was actually starting to believe this harmony and friendship paradigm. “Thanks,” I told the Princess.

I knew when to fold, though, when to realize I might be wrong.

The 12th - The Headlines Were Screaming Bloody Murder

Exiting from the library, I began noticing the layout (or lack of it) of Ponyville. It seemed that the town did not have a dedicated grid system, instead relying on the uneven terrain for some haphazard organization. It was little wonder how Rainbow and I could jump roofs to the library–– the buildings were constructed as tightly as possible with little thought for practical travel.

Still, there was a rustic charm to the town. It was as though time never passed here. The place would not have looked out of place a thousand years ago. Combine that with the all–too prevalent smiles and friendly atmosphere and one has found Arcadia.

A little ways from the entrance, Rainbow was standing smack in the middle of the street. Her head darted back and forth, eyes scanning the townsfolk for someone important. I walked over to her without giving any of the locals more than a second look. It was a miracle that the disguise was working as it was now, but I was not about to get cocky. She turned to me with a slanted expression. “I still don’t see Pinkie Pie anywhere… and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Definitely a good thing,” I whispered. “C’mon, show me the rest of this town before someone wises up.” Like the new residents of Cloudsdale, the ponies we passed on the street went out of their way to give us a smile or a morning greeting. Rainbow reacted likewise, even stopping our trek to exchange a story or two with a local fan. I quickened my pace every time she came to a halt. At the rate we were going, we would only get a few hundred meters before someone wised up.

“Love the hat!” A royal guard slipped the remark as he walked past my right. I responded with a less than genuine smile. As he trotted away, I took full account of his uniform, which included of all things high–end military armor, a holstered bow, and a quiver of arrows. There was no mistaking the gold plating in this sunlight: Canterlot regular, day guard.

Rainbow caught up to me and noticed where my eyes were. She began right away with contempt lining her voice: “He’s one of those ‘Cut and Dried’ soldiers Twilight and I were talking about. Or the CAD Battalion.” She pointed with a hoof around us, stopping at each armored pony who roamed the street. Seven gold–plated regulars were present in the area. “Some high–minded bureaucrats in Canterlot realized a lot of relief money was going to Ponyville to make up for our… constant destruction. In order to keep threats in check and, of course, reduce the bill, they sent a company of the royal guard to organize the CAD Battalion with our militia.”

Rainbow snorted. “At least that’s the story they gave us. Oh! Over there is Town Hall and directly across from that is the headquarters…” It was obvious enough that there was bad blood between her and the battalion. Hard to blame her. Sending these guys to keep the peace in a place like this was akin to eliminating a rat infestation with a flamethrower. There were enough soldiers to give the impression that Ponyville was under occupation.

I found one of the earth pony guards staring at us, but the moment I returned her gaze, she turned away and continued her impassive patrol. I nudged Rainbow to keep walking. We needed to finish this tour fast–– the walking armory out here was beginning to make my trigger hoof twitch.

And on that thought: “What’s with the weapons? I don’t recall an incident in which Ponyville was held hostage.” Every gold–armored soldier had a sword, a spear, or a bow and arrows, worn in full display for the most pacifistic ponies in the country. They were not loaded guns, but in trained hooves, even a baseball bat could be a fatal instrument.

“I haven’t the faintest idea. That there by the way is Sugarcube Corner, where our resident party pony stays. Best pastries you’ll taste in Equestria!” It was hard to miss a castle–sized gingerbread house. The sleuth in me sought to find out exactly what two cuckoos like Jetstream and Pinkie Pie were up to, but that was a mystery for another day. As we left Sugarcube Corner behind us, Rainbow continued, “Well, there was the one time we had an Ursa Minor rampage through town, but Twilight fixed that.”

“After extensive property damage, I presume?”

“...Yeah. Snips and Snails got on the CAD’s troublemakers list for that one.”

Stifling a laugh after hearing that was no simple feat. I felt tears slipping out from under my eyes, but the most that came out of my mouth were a few ‘polite’ coughs. My voice had about as much composure as a two–legged stool as I replied, “Troublemakers list?”

Either Rainbow missed the humor or I was laughing about a legitimate blacklist. “Yeah, all the probable candidates for Ponyville’s next disaster are kept on a list by the CAD. I, as a notable exception, was wrongly listed as a troublemaker! I’m a prankster, but that doesn’t mean my next prank will involve Town Hall’s destruction.”

“The troublemakers list is sure more pleasant to say than ‘Ponyville’s Most Wanted.’”

“This ain’t a joke, Fleetfoot. These guys take everything seriously. That’s Carousel Boutique, by the way. Rarity’s in there if you ever need a better disguise, but consider it a last resort.” We were entering the southeastern outskirts, which resembled a fairground with the plentitude of tents around. “Anyway, the Cut–and–Drieds have been watching me almost non–stop since they arrived something like a week ago. You’ve seen them too, staring at us and waiting for an excuse to call me out!

“They investigate every prank and then round up the usual suspects. Just the other day, somepony sprayed graffiti on their headquarters––”

“Was that somebody you?” I asked. My mind was preoccupied with the forest on the horizon. In a village that literally sparkled in the daytime, it was just slightly alarming to see an area where the sun failed to shine. There were around two dozen more soldiers patrolling the treeline; not one of them was looking inside the forest’s depths though.

I stopped and faced Rainbow, who still had not answered my question. She was searching the grounds for her reply. Coughing a little too convincingly into her foreleg, she responded, “Yes.” Rainbow used the same leg to point towards a hut further down the path, the closest any home was getting to that forest. “Fluttershy lives in the cottage over there. And before you ask, she only stays out this far for the animals. After her house, there ain’t another pony who would live near the Everfree.”

“Where all the guards are?”

“Yeah. Most of the CAD Battalion is stationed along the Everfree Forest, as they should be, preventing the wildlife from straying into town.” Rainbow fluttered her wings in preparation for a flight. With eyes on the guards, she told me, “We better go the other way. We’ve seen everything worth seeing in this corner of town.”

I unfolded my wings and let a stray wind pass through the feathers. My energy had replenished over the therapy session at the library. “Okay, let’s go.” As I bent my knees for a springing start, I kept one hoof on my hat to prevent an unnecessary slip–up. My wings came down hard, and my legs pushed off the earth. Rainbow followed suit and reached my altitude in a blink. We were at a high enough point to see all of Ponyville from the river to the hills.

“Sweet Apple Acres is the largest farm in Ponyville. It’s over to the southwest.” I followed her outstretched hoof to the apple orchard we had passed over on our first approach. “You can usually take a good nap there, so long as you choose a tree that Applejack is not currently bucking. Then over there…” Her hoof moved toward a simple cloud manor beyond Ponyville’s northern boundary. What looked like a gigantic rainbow tail jutted out of the roof. “…is my house. It’s a nice place, I swear!”

She took point, flying slightly faster than my leisure pace. As we flew past Town Hall, a couple of sentries on the top balcony waved at us. Seeing as Rainbow returned the gesture, the sentries must have been militia. They were dressed in tin armor, which looked like the work of a school play’s costume designer. There was at least some truth in the CAD Battalion’s deployment: no bureaucrat was willing to spend a dollar more… or bit… for Ponyville.

Fast approaching the manor, I noticed a few more personal touches to Rainbow Dash’s estate. She owned a custom stratus and a multi–floored tower constructed from cloud brick. The miniature rainbow falls on either side of the lawn were standard decorations for any pollyanna. Besides that, her home was rather humble–– at least compared to Cloudsdale standards.

We glided to a landing at her front door. Rainbow turned to face me with a suave grin and a cocked eyebrow. “And the last important stop on our tour is the residence of the one and only Rainbow Danger Dash!” Her hindleg shot out and smacked into the front door, throwing it backwards and pinning it into a wall. The swishing sound that resounded from the hit resembled a dramatic entrance into a spaghetti western saloon.

“Well, in actuality, there’s nothing special about this place. I was never one for interior decorating, you know?” The living room mainly consisted of three couches arranged facing one another around a rectangular coffee table. A garbage bin, discarded manuscripts, and a Wonderbolts poster were the only materials not made of clouds. Them and a tan and red songbird perched on a window on the far wall.

It cocked its head in a curious look at me. My eyes were captivated by the sight of the bird for whatever reason. As I trotted deeper into the Dash residence, I brought up the other guest: “That bird on the windowsill. Your pet?”

Rainbow Dash had followed me in, not even bothering to close the door. “You mean Columbia? Sort of. She flew into my house one day and wouldn’t leave. Fluttershy says Columbia’s a female northern cardinal. I’ve never considered owning a pet myself… but considering she finds her own food and sings some cool tunes once in a while, I’ve been having second thoughts.”

I tore my eyes from Columbia for a moment to take a glance at one of the manuscripts on the ground. By the time I got around to reading the title, she had swept it off the floor with a hoof. Mumbling something pertaining to unfinished friendship assignments, Rainbow had all the papers piled into the corner in eleven seconds.

“What were those––”

“Oh, hehe, where are my manners? I should show you your bed now! C’mon upstairs!” The mare vaulted up a spiral staircase, leaving me with the cardinal. After having a stare–off with the bird, I finally relented and just went up after Rainbow.

The steps were solid blocks of rain clouds, which did not give as much to applied weight as normal cumulus. The stuff was built to be as tough as tree trunks; it even functioned as malleable bulletproof armor. Speaking of which, where had all the firearms gone? I mean I missed getting shot at as much as police paperwork, but the nation’s supply of guns seemed to have disappeared overnight.

Not confetti guns like the ones the smugglers had. I meant the ones that shoot lead, which hurt like a swing from a baseball bat covered with scorpion tails. The standing military force in town had a load of pre–industrial weaponry; the smugglers had toy blunderbusses; the CPD did not appear to carry firearms themselves either. First prohibition and now gun control? All the evidence kept pointing toward her Majesty in Canterlot, but I doubted that she could pull off a stunt this big.

Then again, this train of thought was exactly what my therapy was trying to cure. I had to let go of this conspiracy fixation and focus on the stuff that mattered.

“...and this is my bedroom!” Rainbow guided my eyes around the room with an outstretched hoof. There was a bed on an elevated platform and a blanket with her cutie mark to cover it. One drawer and a lamp sat next to the bed. Besides the single family picture on top, there were no personal touches to describe.

I faced Rainbow, ready to ask her about the guest bed, but the sheepish expression she wore stopped me. Her magenta eyes flew around, looking everywhere I was not. “Well, uh, see… I didn’t really have time to prepare a guest bed. I don’t usually get visitors. So… we’ll have to share the bed.”

“Alright,” I replied. Rainbow Dash stopped responding afterwards. Spotting the outline of a closet door across the sole window in the bedroom, I made my way over. I found inside a modest wardrobe consisting of wrapped cardboard boxes, a metal bar with half a dozen coat hangers, one gala dress, one Shadowbolts costume, and one typewriter.

I called to Rainbow over my shoulder, “I’ll just hang up the trenchcoat and hat here, if you don’t mind.” An indecipherable stutter answered me back. Close enough to consent. With the disguise put away, my body felt ten times lighter. Nothing except my old Wonderbolts uniform and my husband’s leather coat seemed comfortable to wear anymore. Luckily for me, I would have a whole week to get used to my horrendous disguise.

When I got back to Rainbow, she had recovered from whatever paralysis had taken her. The mare was still looking for words, but at least she was functional enough to recompose herself. I suppose the thought of rooming with a Wonderbolt had overloaded her poor head.

“Well, thanks for letting me stay at your place, Rainbow Dash.” It was sincere gratitude, even if she was the sole reason I was here in the first place.

A familiar whistle sounded from the window, pulling my attention to the window. Columbia the cardinal was perched on the sill, once more giving us a cocked stare. Caught by the mesmerizing appearance of the bird, I barely noticed what Rainbow had just said to me.

I quickly reeled my head to catch what she had said. “What were you saying?”

The Element of Loyalty cleared her throat and spoke once more with a shaking, but confident, tone: “Not a problem, Fleetfoot! I’m always ready to help out the Wonderbolts!”

“Glad to hear,” I obliged. “It should about noon by now. You know anywhere that’s cheap to eat?”

Rainbow Dash smirked. “I have an idea––”

“Dash! Have you seen the headlines on the Foal Free Press?” Right through the window came a tangerine–colored pegasus with a cream white mane. Columbia barely showed a twitch in response to the sudden entry. Tucked to the visitor’s chest was a newspaper aptly named ‘the Foal Free Press.’ This was getting ridiculous. Did everyone in this village have an open door policy? Wait… my disguise…

“Apparently, THE Wonderbolt, Fleetfooooooaaaaaaahhhh!” The visitor promptly dropped the newspaper and gawked at me. She froze up on the spot and began an all–too familiar stutter. “R-r-rainbow D-dash! That’s Fleetfoot!”

Loyalty rolled her eyes. “Really now?” She picked up the newspaper with her hooves. Her eyes scanned the front page, turning from mildly frustrated to alarmingly shocked in a second. It was the kind of look you could only achieve uncovering something as horrifying as a shrine made by your obsessive fan. That or entering a room full of hired guns talking about collecting your bounty. But I was reminiscing.

Tangerine mare took a hesitant step toward me. “F-fleetfoot? Are you real?” The question did not bother me so much as the way she asked it–– strung higher than a fire alarm… with a high pitch… her voice was grating to the ears.

I nodded. “I think so.”

“Are you and Rainbow Dash best friends!?”

“Sure.”

Rainbow walked over to me, teeth clenched in an unsettled frown.Call it a hunch, but I think the headlines were about me. “The headlines are about you, Fleetfoot. I–– you should have a look for yourself.”

The paper exchanged hooves underneath tangerine’s muzzle (how did she get this close?). Two horseshoes on either top corner flanked the newspaper’s title. The real eyecatcher, however, was the plain, succinct––and expressed in capitalized, bold letters––heading and its accompanying picture.

‘BREAKING NEWS: FLEETFOOT, THE WONDERBOLT OR A HARD–BOILED VIGILANTE?’

There I was, standing in front of Twilight Sparkle’s library, a leather coat adorned rather than a trenchcoat, sunglasses, and a fedora. The photo had been forged, but the truth was out there now. A deadly virus released into Ponyville’s peaceful utopia. Something vicious this way comes. Fleetfoot at large.

Chapter 13 - All the Gold Dust in this Village... And then You, Fleetfoot

The writer of the newspaper article went by the pseudonym, “Gabriel Gums.” One of my Ponville fans had apparently been expecting me. Whatever pain came out of this publicity, I could not allow the Foal Free Press’s latest edition to leave town. Whiplash had put his neck out on the chopping block trying to cover for me, but now Gabriel Gums had the executioner’s ax. This story had to die with him.

I knew exactly what path I was heading down and what consequences awaited me. But I could handle them. Once those dear to you were threatened, no course of action was too extreme. I only needed a destination.

“Fleetfoot? Hello?” Rainbow’s hoof poked my shoulder. “She’s gone into that trance again… Cream Tangerine, when was this published?”

‘Cream Tangerine’ was a few steps behind us. Her voice trembled from some sort of sugar high as she responded, “Just twenty minutes ago. The whole town’s gone ballistic over it!”

So much for staying low. My eyes scanned the front page for some information on the publisher. A single address had been italicized below the bold headlines: Ponyville Elementary. Since Gabriel Gums seemed so interested in me, it only seemed right to grant him a personal interview.

Then came that hiccupped chirping again. The numbing and appeasing chirping of a red bird. Glancing up, I spotted Rainbow Dash’s new pet, Columbia, perched on the window sill. Cream Tangerine squeaked nearby, perhaps just as entranced by the bird as everyone else.

Something churned in my veins. Maybe it was the adrenaline kicking in or my subconscious ordering me to get on with what I planned, but it was clear I needed to get out of here now. With Columbia blocking my fastest route out of here, I did the first thing that came to mind––I chucked the newspaper out the open window.

Columbia saw my move long before the Foal Free Press’s last edition sailed out of my hooves. She leapt out of sight without a sound. I galloped after her without a missed beat.

“No, Columbia! Fleetfoot, why did you–– Hey! Where are you going?” Rainbow had just missed my exit. My hooves departed from solid footing, and the sky opened up before me. Right before gravity caught me, I unfolded my wings.

In that instant, the sky transformed from an encompassing ceiling into a vast ocean. There were an infinite number of elevations to take, a multitude of directions to travel in, and a scarcity of obstacles to stop me. Despite that freedom, I was still following a single track, another lead in a case that has been haunting me for seven years.

The schoolhouse was a red bullseye at the end of this track––barely a five–minute fly away. As I soared over part of the village, I caught glimpses of newspapers in every pair of hooves. Everyone from the mail pony to the neighborhood watch had a copy. In the best possible outcome, they would all have reason now to avoid me. But I was not naive enough to believe that. There would be no peace here for me, not once I was through with Gabriel Gums.

With such a desire to punch a pony six feet under, one would imagine I was a charging bull the moment I entered the schoolhouse. But while I did intend to unleash every destructive impulse within me, as promised in the previous paragraphs, I managed to mask that fury under a stiff grimace.

Remembering to fold my wings, I trotted through the open front door. The classroom had a wall of windows looking out toward the playground and three rows of desks spread out to fill a wide space. Interior decorating had been left at a bare minimum: student artwork on the far left wall, some educational propaganda posters, a chalkboard on the right wall.

A mare of a mane bearing the likeness of bubble–gum cotton candy looked up from her paper–cluttered desk at the chalkboard. Neither of us had been expecting the other, but at least one of us could manage a welcoming smile regardless. “Hello! I’m the teacher here, Ms. Cheerilee. Do you have a daughter who attends the school?” Cheerilee ran through the introduction with a level tone, yet a quick shift in her green eyes told me that she knew I was not here on parent business.

“No, I’m here about the latest edition of the Foal Free Press.”

Cheerilee raised an eyebrow. “You should see one of the student staff about obtaining one. I only review the content before publication.” Not even a hint of recognition. It may turn out that Ms. Cheerilee was not as thorough as she thought she was.

“Could you direct me to the editor of this paper then?”

She grinned and complied: “Of course! Featherweight runs the operations under the schoolhouse. You can reach the basement through our door hatch––”

I felt the distortion in the air behind me before I heard the clip–clop of a pegasus’s landing. Rainbow Dash ran into the room and threw herself between me and Cheerilee. She stood her ground against me and said, “Don’t do it, Fleetfoot! That story’s not worth going on a rampage.”

Cheerilee went wide–eyed but recomposed herself in short time. “What’s going on here?”

I answered, “I have a complaint to sort out with Mr. Featherweight. Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Cheerilee.”

I took one step backward, keeping eye contact with the Element of Loyalty. She dropped into racing stance. I knew about her sonic rainboom, a weapon I had no chance of outrunning. Plenty of situations in the past had pitted me against unfavorable odds, but I survived due to a combination of my opponents’ incompetence and dumb luck. Unfortunately, it seemed neither was on my side at this point.

“I don’t want to have to take you down, Fleetfoot.” Rainbow exchanged volume for sincerity, bringing her voice down to a whisper. “It’s just gossip… something crazy a kid made up. Let’s just go grab lunch. I’ll pay.” With both aggression and conciliation packed into the same approach, she could have made for a fine negotiator. Still, her offer of free lunch would not dissuade me.

Cheerilee was up on her hooves now. The stare she gave me was both stern and terrified like that of an elk confronting a wolf. “You’re not here to threaten one of my students, are you?”

“We were going to have a chat about his latest article.” I was running out of options. The schoolhouse had been the last place I had expected to be cornered in.

“Twilight and I can handle it,” Rainbow affirmed. She came a step closer. “This whole mess is only happening because you previously ran off and went on one of your roaring rampages of revenge.”

“This is beyond my own problems, Rainbow Dash,” I answered. There had to be something to distract this pony with! “Someone’s career is on the line, and unless I keep the ordeal in Cloudsdale under wraps, he’s still at risk.”

“Then why won’t you let us help?” Rainbow approached closer. “There’s no reason for you to handle this alone. There’s no reason to be a one pony army. That’s all in the past, right?”

I retract the last thought. She would make for an outstanding negotiator. Doing my job solo had been my personal policy during my years in the CPD. Too many dead partners, usually the result of my guns–blazing approach to every situation, reinforced that doctrine. Now that I was out of the force, there was nothing keeping me to that policy. So yes, that was all in the past.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a short–cut brown mane emerge from under the window. A pair of brown eyes scanned the room briefly before spotting me. The moment the pony realized I had caught him, the head vanished below the windowsill. Rainbow had turned around swiftly, probably following the direction of my eyes.

With that window of opportunity, I kicked off my forelegs and tossed myself out the front entrance. As my form sailed over the staircase outside, my wings opened up and caught a gust of air. Within a fraction of a second, I was beating my wings fast enough to reverse my descent and fly over the schoolhouse. Upon landing outside the windowed wall of the school, I caught sight of the door hatch Ms. Cheerilee had informed me of. A brown tail was all I saw of the onlooker before the door hatch closed shut.

My legs covered the distance in record time. And with the adrenaline pumping through my veins, I concentrated my energy into a tree–bucking kick on the door hatch. Whatever lock the suspect had put on the doors dissipated into woodchips and nails, unveiling the stairs to the basement. Through a cloud of dust I galloped into the room that housed the Foal Free Press. My right hoof came down on a black coat, left disheveled on the floor in a hurry.

The suspect, a cream–coated colt, was standing in front of a black doorway ten meters away. I knew a secret escape route when I saw one. Gripping the coat with my hoof, I hurled it in his direction. Just by luck, it caught around his head as he made toward his exit. With the suspect immobilized by the distraction, I made four great strides and tackled him to the ground.

Experience taught me how to hold down any struggling pony, even if he was thinner than most foals. He growled as he struck out with his limbs in vain, “I know my rights, you stupid maniac! I claim freedom of press as is afforded by article one of the Sovereign Equestrian’s Doctrine!”

“Your paper’s no public forum.” Clench down with left hindleg. Opposition's energy and hope quickly dwindling. “It can be suppressed, if deemed inappropriate or if it doesn’t inform the reported individual and give her an opportunity to respond, by the school,” I countered. With the coat blocking his vision, it was easy to restrain his flailing wings and legs.

“You’re making that up!”

“Hazel Harvest v. Kohl Miner. Decision handed down by the highest court in the land.” Having successfully restrained ‘Gabriel Gums,’ I removed the coat with my teeth. It was at that point that I recognized the texture. I threw it down next to the editor and began my interrogation: “How did you get your hooves on my coat?”

“I’ve got connections all over the place!” He boasted. Either this Featherweight was putting up a pitiful attempt at buying time or he was just that arrogant.

“You’re the editor of the school newspaper. No one outside Ponyville even knows who you are. Now start talking!”

He made one last desperate push against my legs. After that failed, he laughed in my face. The smirk on his face aggravated me to no end. “Try to make me! You wouldn’t hurt a kid!”

Would I?

My right foreleg reeled back so my hoof was poised over his eye. Featherweight stopped grinning. I held the first swing in cocked position and… stopped there. My hesitation provided just enough time for someone to pull my leg back and restrain me with it. With my foreleg twisted behind my back, my assailant easily persuaded me to move off of Featherweight.

“What the hay are you thinking?” Rainbow yelled into my ear. “He’s just a kid!” My foreleg convulsed as she came dangerously close to ripping it from my elbow joint. Past the point of resistance, I tapped the floor with my free hoof. Rainbow honored my gesture and released me.

I fell onto my rump and looked up to her. My descent into the role of the villain, within my own revenge tale, was complete. Rainbow had seen what I could resort to. She should understand now that I embodied none of the virtues ponies naturally possessed in this world. “I––I made a mistake,” I muttered.

“I would say!” Disgust and anger dripped from her words, yet the expression she wore hardly matched her tone. Her lips thinned, her eyebrows arched upward, the signs were there that I was not completely repulsing to her just yet. If anything, it appeared that Rainbow was finally coming to terms with the fact that I was not the hero––the ambitious and righteous Wonderbolt Fleetfoot––she had envisioned me as.

Rainbow Dash helped up Featherweight. “You okay?”

The pint–sized editor brushed off some dust from his shoulder. “Not badly hurt, but––What are you doing!?” Rainbow had him by the cheeks, using her wings to lift herself two meters off the ground. Featherweight’s eyes went wide as her hooves pressed in and squished his face into the semblance of a fish.

“Forging pictures, giving a Wonderbolt a bad name in my town, and failing to effectively use a pre–made escape route. You’re a real brat, you know that?” She shook Featherweight around, as though her hooves were the hook, reeling in a flopping guppy.

“You’re going to issue an apology and fess up to making up that story or I’ll be the one kicking in your door, got that?”

With the promise made, Rainbow let him go. Featherweight fell unceremoniously on chin. With both forelegs covering his head, he spouted, “Yes Ma’am! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!” Seeing that he took the threat seriously, it was clear that Rainbow Dash kept her word and clear that Featherweight was a pushover. I probably condemned myself for just coming this close to hitting the kid.

Thinking again about my idiotic choices and their consequences, I hardly noticed Rainbow Dash’s approach until her chest was a breath away from my muzzle. My eyes stared straight forward into her coat, even as she asked me, “What happened to you, Fleetfoot? You used to be the pony everypony wanted to be.”

A long time ago, I might have been carefree and jubilant; temperamental yet thick–skinned; empowering and inspiring; I might have been capable of taking on the world and convincing everyone else that they can do the same. That Fleetfoot ceased to exist once Whitewash died. The light had gone out of my life.

“I’m not the pony you look up to, Rainbow Dash.” I replied. The words were fumbled, because I had something in my throat. “She might be in a place where she doesn’t belong… maybe occupying a life she didn’t deserve. But she’ll come back.”

Rainbow sat down across from me. She wore the face of an onlooker at a funeral: stoic yet empathetic. I could be mistaking empathy for pity, but I wanted to believe that Rainbow understood what I was saying. Regardless of what else she thought of me, I just needed to know that much.

“Stay put, where you are. Hooves in the air,” a voice commanded behind me. As I turned my head, a beam of sunlight caught me in the eye. The ray had refracted off the golden armor of a unicorn guard. In her magic hovered three sets of hoofcuffs. “Miss Fleetfoot. You’re under arrest for attempted assault on a minor.”

Chapter 14 - You Play, You Pay

Next to the fact that I had gotten Rainbow and myself arrested, and the fact that I nearly hit a kid, I could not help but feel that I was forgetting another one of my errors. This moment was certainly my lowest point up to now, but it was really that unknown felony that made me feel like I should be behind bars.

Unlike Featherweight and Rainbow Dash, I abided by procedure and held my hooves out for the cuffs. A steel chain had been attached through all three pairs of our hoofcuffs, binding us together in the crime. Those of us who resisted eventually humbled themselves once the guards angled their spears toward us.

“Excuse me, why am I being arrested? I was the victim!” Featherweight griped. The guard next to him merely grunted and tightened the cuffs around his scrawny legs.

The tannish yellow unicorn, who had informed me of my crime and rights, heading the CAD mook squad, inquired tersely, “Are you Featherweight, chief editor of the Foal Free Press?”

“Yes, yes I am.”

“And you haven’t registered yourself with the Canterlot Auxiliary Defense battalion’s Troublemakers’ List?” The sergeant turned and looked me over. Even though I had not said a word, she still sized me up as though I had questioned her authority.

Featherweight stuttered briefly. “Troublemakers’ List? I haven’t been responsible for any incidents in town!”

Sergeant Lotus barely skipped a beat on her response: “All writers and artists are to register their information into the battalion’s database, regardless of their civil record. We’ll be moving out and making no stops until we reach HQ!”

As she turned her back on me, I caught sight of her rank insignia right around her shoulder and another emblem uncommon for royal guards––a phoenix the color of a burning hearth with its wings spread outward. It was undoubtedly the symbol of the Cut and Drieds.

With an escort of seven armed guards, the three of us convicted were led out of the basement. As we marched past the school window, I got a glimpse of Cheerilee at her desk. She had an expression of resentment rivaling that of some of the thugs I brought in as an officer. But in all honesty, I would have given the same look to a pony who attacked children. If Rainbow had not been there, calling in the guards might have been the only action that would have saved Featherweight.

All the clouds had been cleared, leaving us absolutely exposed at high noon. A cool morning had given way to scorching heat no spring had ever witnessed. Celestia herself might have decided to bring the sun down over my head as punishment. The CAD troops somehow remained insulated in their gold armor.

Around half an hour passed in what became a death march. One hoof at a time. Sweat doused my face in itching trails and slid its way into my eyes, forcing them closed with searing pain to my cornea. My mane and coat were left in shambles from all the oil. I had more to do now with a mop that soaked up grime than a worn–out athlete.

CAD headquarters appeared before us like an oasis in the desert, if only because air conditioning sounded as enticing as life–saving water. Otherwise, it was just an indistinguishable building slapped into the downtown area by a blind architect.

"Up the stairs, you three," Cupid Lotus said with an incessant tap of her hoof. We were led into a brick and mortar lodge, a square complex with no character to its design. Several frameless windows had been cut into the walls, an arch for the main entrance had been installed, and the builders had slapped on a black tile roof to wrap up the whole monstrosity.

The lobby inside continued the theme of absolute simplicity––a glass-paned counter, a couple of ceiling fans, a few miserable secretaries. The sergeant exchanged greetings with a secretary behind the counter, then Featherweight, Rainbow, and I were brought down to the prison block. A small cell was opened, three hay rations waiting inside, and we were locked inside. Due process concluded with the clinking of our cell’s lock.

"You think these bars are going to hold me? Just wait until court. I'll make you nimrods pay for every minute I'm here. I'll even testify in my own defense..." Rainbow continued railing against the guards, long after they had shut the steel door to the prison block. She had taken position by the bars, attempting, it seemed, to bend them with her muzzle. Featherweight was off in the corner, mumbling to himself about Luna knows what.

Talking sense into either of my cellmates was futile. My energy was spent already from the death march. I lied down on a cot and closed my eyes.

All I could do was avoid thinking about depressing possibilities, such as the possibility that Featherweight's little story might have traveled outside Ponyville. Maybe into the ear of a desperate journalist. A little, insignificant runt's rumor could develop into a media maelstrom. Spitfire and Whiplash (and Soarin) could be facing a firing squad of reporters at this very moment. All because of me.

Narrating the hate I had for myself was so much easier when alcohol was involved.

“––And the law can eat my dust!" Rainbow Dash's tirade came to a sudden stop. As her last words finished echoing through the room, I heard her footsteps move away from the bars. In my experience, that sort of silence could only indicate two possibilities––Rainbow was preparing to stab me in the back or Rainbow was preparing to put a plan into action.

For the Element of Loyalty, I was willing to believe the latter.

My eyes snapped open. Sure enough, Rainbow had snuck up to my cot, nearly touching noses with me. She raised a foreleg over her lips and made a pointing gesture toward Featherweight. By the time I was back on my hooves, she was over by the runt.

Rainbow sat down next to him and asked, "What do you know about the Cut and Drieds?" The question was whispered, and both their heads were bowed toward the corner. I did a quick sweep of the cell, keeping an eye out for any camera or microphone emplacements. There was nothing in the way of surveillance, as far as I could see. Why the discretion then?

"You've noticed too?" Featherweight responded with an excited flutter in his wings.

"The guard activity, the strange restrictions on artists and writers…" Rainbow cast me a quick glance. "Strange changes in my friends. How is nobody else noticing?"

"The CAD's behind it all." Featherweight poked his head with both hooves. "They've been messing with our heads! Some sort of subliminal brainwashing… maybe. Whenever the CAD makes a pony disappear or something like that, no one seems to suspect a thing. Rainbow Dash, when was the last time you saw Pinkie Pie?"

"Two days ago, I think." She shifted her eyes toward the ceiling, squinting at an uncertainty in her answer. "A family trip, she said."

"Pinkie Pie's been gone for two weeks. Never said a word about where she went." Featherweight picked up a hay ration and started devouring the contents at a speed I did not think possible for a scrawny pegasus. With hay in his mouth, he continued, "Everyone's under the same impression: family trip, two days ago. Ever since the battalion arrived, ponies have disappeared under similar circumstances. The good doctor had an appointment in Canterlot; Lyra went fishing; that cross–eyed pegasus flew east."

"How were you unaffected?" I inquired. Just watching the kid eat made me realize I had nothing yet for lunch. Hay rations would have to do.

Featherweight feverishly chewed and swallowed his current bite. "I stayed low and practically lived in the schoolhouse basement. So long as I kept printing out silly foal garbage and gossip, the CAD would never suspect me. Who would take a kid editor seriously, anyway?"

He paused through his next bite. With both hooves up, Featherweight quickly muttered, "And I've very, very sorry about the article. I'll undo what I started. I swear!"

I replied with a curt nod. Seeing as the runt might be onto something big, I decided I would let him go for now.

"They've been messing with our minds?" Rainbow mumbled. She was rubbing her temple, undoubtedly trying to comprehend how she could have forgotten about her friend.

"At any moment, the Cut and Drieds can make us forget someone or something. We can figure out what’s going on together! But we need to keep each other informed and remain unnoticed."

The whole prospect was just too convenient. A whole town's memory could be manipulated by these Canterlot mooks, Ponyville’s own Big Brother. What if they were also responsible for Cloudsdale's regression into some sort of idyllic paradise, Solar Wind's change of name, the change in my career, and... something else. What was I forgetting again?

The door to the prison block opened with an ear-wrenching screech. Featherweight and I threw down the hay rations. Rainbow, meanwhile, was just beginning to return to reality.

"Come find me at my house on Meadowlark Road after we're out. Rose bushes out front. Don't let a single guard see you on your way there." Featherweight made for a corner away from Rainbow and me. He was right back to mumbling to himself the moment two Canterlot regulars appeared outside our cell.

"Her Highness has pardoned the three of you. You're free to go," one said as the other unlocked the door. Featherweight ran out at the first sign of an opening, spouting exuberant thanks to each guard as he went.

Rainbow Dash walked alongside me as we headed out of the cell. A winner's grin was plastered on her face, as though our release was her master plan. "I knew Twilight would get us out! She wouldn't have let us rot in jail on these unjustified charges." She got up close to the two guards for the last part. Neither gave so much as an eye roll.

I was stopped on my way out, however. "You are to see the colonel in his office. Private Toffee Bunny will lead you there." The speaking soldier waved over his partner, a unicorn the color of graphite. Rainbow opened her mouth, but a quick glance in her direction convinced her to remain silent. She made for the exit, and I followed the private out of the prison block.

One trek through bland halls later, I arrived at the colonel's door. Private Bunny rapped, opened the door for me, and shut it closed just as quickly once I was inside.

The colonel stood over a turtle shell desk situated between two wide windows overlooking town square. He smirked upon my entry, holding the tail of a grotesque pipe between his teeth. As I approached closer to the desk, I could see he was a light green earth pony with no visible mane, who wore just an officer's cap as an accessory. The colonel directed me over to the only other chair in the room right in front of him.

"Good afternoon, Miss Fleetfoot. My name is Colonel Harvest Glory. Care for a cup of tea?" Colonel Glory had the appearance of a recently graduated recruit, yet his voice was like that of a matured dragon given lessons in maintaining a suave tone.

"I welcome the offer," I said. The colonel set a cup before me and poured my tea. The porcelain kettle, cups, and plates were among the few items decorating the colonel's office, next to a case for his pipe, a gramophone and accompanying records, a wall of honors, and four portraits of the ruling alicorns. Those portraits were hung in pairs to my left and right, bringing their gazes into my peripheral vision.

I took a sip. The nourishment was palatable. The colonel could not be happier as I nodded in approval. "The tea was the one thing in Canterlot I simply could not live without. Say what you will about the aristocrats who drink it, but you have to admit, they have excellent tastes."

“Then the taste comes with the culture,” I said. But still, I sipped my tea for the sake of etiquette.

Harvest Glory settled into his chair and dropped his affable grin. “Now then, about this incident… I was shocked, when I received the report, but the Princess’s visit helped clear up a few details. I can understand why you went after that colt, but regardless, your actions were uncalled for.

“As consequence, your name has been added to the Canterlot Auxiliary Defense battalion’s Troublemakers’ List. In spite of that, I am willing to help alleviate a burden on your end. If you so wish, Miss Fleetfoot, I can recommend to the mayor’s office the removal of the latest issue of Foal Free Press on the basis of libel.” The colonel resumed smiling.

Remembering the runt’s words, I answered swiftly, “I would be grateful if you could.”

There was no telling whether or not he could see through my guise of ignorance. But no chances. That Harvest Glory appeared to be a reasonable authority figure did not change the fact that all ‘disappearances’ and instances of mind–tapping led back to him.

“Anything else you wanted to speak to me about, colonel?” I took another sip from my cup. The tea had grown lukewarm by this point.

The colonel momentarily glanced at Twilight Sparkle’s portrait. His eyes widened for a split second, and he turned back to me. “There was one more thing her Highness had informed me of…” he continued. “She asked that I ‘look into an individual named Lightning Bolt.’”

We sat staring at each other. He was testing me, looking for a reaction or any hint of recognition. One sudden move could implicate me in the opposition camp. Then, it would be over before I had the full picture.

“Not a name I recognize, I’m afraid,” I admitted. From the look of disbelief on his face, I assumed that my answer had disappointed his expectations. The colonel remained still. Could he have figured me out anyway? I was sure to cover up all the signs of my knowing anything about the battalion. I answered all questions within reasonable time, played along with his game of affability, and commanded my body language. Unless, he knew from the very start. Then, I needed an escape route and a ploy to gain the advantage––

“Surely you know Lightning Bolt?” Harvest Glory coughed into his fetlock. “Your daughter?”

…no. I remembered Lightning Bolt. Why would I forget? I am her mother after all. No caring parent would just forget the child she raised for 11 years. That kind of parent would deserve to lose her life’s joy. And if she forgot again, to lose everything she held dear.

Dear Celestia, I was shaking. I needed to get out of this place now.

“Exit’s at the end of the hallway if you need––” was all he got to say before I slammed the door shut. My sprint had no form and no thought. It was the sort of run fueled purely by the flight instinct.

I needed to find her, wherever I may have lost her. No, I needed to find Twilight, first. If Lightning Bolt never forgave me for forgetting her, then I would have nothing left to live for. That encounter would have to come later. Someone who had fallen as low as I had needed to confess.

Of course. I would need a therapist.

Chapter Fifteen - Someone, No Matter what the Cost, Shows You there is Hope

In the CPD, I had a reputation built on successes. No case was too difficult; no mission was too suicidal. If the eternal standoff in the underworld of Cloudsdale ever broke into a blast out, I was there on the frontlines to collect evidence atop a mound of dead bodies. All the paperwork afterwards dealt with the others I added to that pile. When one failure could earn me a permanent reassignment to the morgue, I made it my policy to never fail––not that I feared for my life, but I have a daughter to raise.

Had.

Losing her was my biggest failure. Forgetting her was salt in the wound. A mare could pass every trial and avoid death at every turn, only for one slip–up to bring to naught all she had done. Outside of police work, within a world that progressed perfectly without me, I could only be known by my failures.

“That makes absolutely no sense.” Twilight Sparkle glared. “Rainbow Dash, the likelihood of all these ‘coincidences’ and ‘disappearances’ amounting to a government conspiracy involving mind manipulation on a national scale, which only you, Fleetfoot, and the child editor of a school newspaper could notice, is not high.”

“But it’s true! Don’t you see the connection?” Rainbow kicked away her elaborate conspiracy board––complete with sticky notes and red string trails in between––with a restless groan. “Pinkie Pie’s been gone for a fortnight and none of us have even questioned it! I mean, jeez, Fleetfoot even forgot her own daughter! Twice!” I clenched my teeth and felt my trigger hoof shake, but my resolve dissipated to ashes in the next breath.

“It’s the only way it could’ve happened. The CAD’s in our heads!”

Twilight sighed atop her stool. Lying a few meters from her, I let myself sink into the therapeutic sofa. The fabric shifted to create a soft cocoon around me. I wanted it to swallow me whole, but the world was not ready to let me go unpunished.

“That’s enough, Rainbow Dash. This battle you’re fighting with the Canterlot Auxiliary Defense Battalion has got to stop.” Twilight turned her back on her friend, so she could cast judgment upon me. Her eyes were familiar to me; they were eyes I had always seen in reflections, those of a stern parent, ready to lecture a disobedient child. “And you, Fleetfoot… you’ve only made things worse for the both of us.

“How do you think your fellow Wonderbolts are going to react, having sent you here for a week of therapy, knowing that you attacked a child in that time! I have the authority to pardon you of any offense, but that doesn’t wipe away the crime! If anything, my interference might just give this incident even more attention. Should word spread of your actions, the publicity will ruin the reputation of the Wonderbolts and leave a permanent blot on both our records.”

I took the blame––all of it––without a word. Every misery that befell these ponies was my doing. I was cracking a case, in which the end result had me incriminating myself, the killer grinning in the mirror. I had to give myself up or live with the blood on my hooves… at least metaphorically. I thanked the Goddesses no one had died because of me, yet.

Twilight Sparkle rubbed her forehead, tail swishing to and fro behind the stool’s legs. Rainbow had settled on the floor by her conspiracy board, her face hidden from me.

From my position on the couch, I had a clear line of sight out the biggest window in the library. Due east, tendrils of darkening clouds were spreading across the sky, shaped by the weather ponies for a scheduled rainstorm. The evening was bound to be gloomy.

“The colonel was kind enough to talk to the school. The latest issue will be rescinded; hopefully, what gets out of Ponyville will appear as nothing more than a rumor.” Twilight levitated a mug to her lips and gulped down all the contents inside. “You’re getting one last chance, Fleetfoot. Please don’t let it go to waste.”

“She won’t,” Rainbow Dash said, trotting to Twilight’s side with a frown large enough to bisect both cheeks. “Fleetfoot attacked Featherweight, because she lost her cool. She’s got the temper of a dragon and the impulse of Pinkie Pie… She desperately needs your help, Twilight.”

Twilight’s eyebrow rose almost by instinct. She became the skeptic in regard to Rainbow’s schemes, an acquired trait of having a rebel for a friend. But this rebel had a point––going after Featherweight had been a reckless move, motivated more by rage than by calculated risk. The same could be said of my raid on the smuggler base back in Caeci. They were not the first instances, during which my emotions dictated actions; they were certainly not the first instances, after which I came to regret letting feelings hold sway.

“You’re her therapist,” Rainbow continued. “You’re not about to give up on her already, are you?”

The alicorn Princess of Friendship, at last, released a restrained breath. Her back arched out with her wings unfolded. The feathers were reaching toward the ceiling, toward the sky. Twilight’s voice lost its severity as she answered, “No, I won’t give up on her. Fleetfoot, you’re just a more complex case than I was prepared to deal with.”

My boss had said that too. At least then, the world was still a jigsaw with conspiring masterminds and homicidal maniacs that held all the pieces. What qualified for sane in that context must appear loony in this revision of Equestria. But the evidence was beginning to point me toward my original hypothesis… I really did need a therapist.

Twilight had descended from her stool, not yet taking the steps to get closer to me. That was alright—I was not lifting myself off this couch. Her tone was changing, acquiescing to her designated role in our relationship: “You couldn’t explain it in a way that didn’t sound like a clichéd noir novel, but your problem seems to have to do with the fact that you’re dealing with some conflicting memories. It’s as though you were just living another life entirely these past two days.”

They were not conflicting memories; they were the only ones I had; they were what remained of my original life. I wanted to tell her that. With absolute certainty. But I held my tongue and allowed Twilight Sparkle to continue her assessment.

“I can’t make heads or tails of your sudden change in personality. Rainbow’s told me plenty about how you were like during the Equestria Games tryouts—”

“She’s still prone to backstabbing her friends and teammates. At least that side of her hasn’t changed.” Rainbow shrugged at the glare she received. I was just trying to recall what tryouts they had been referencing.

Twilight sighed. “Anyway… we have a lot to sort out. Yet Rainbow Dash is right: you need help managing your temper right away.” Her horn lit up, and out from behind the couch, a book took flight in her magenta aura. “Luckily, I have a how-to book on anger management!”

“Doesn’t Ponyville have dedicated psychologists for this treatment?” I directed the question Rainbow’s way. All she had to offer me was a guilty chuckle.

“Yes, it was rash of Rainbow Dash to volunteer me, but I have helped ponies overcome their problems, no matter how rooted they are.” Twilight flipped open the book, only stopping as a thought struck her. Her eyes peered into mine. “Since you’re in my care, I have to set one thing straight––you will not give the CAD battalion reason to arrest you again. I won’t help you if you’re purposely trying to make a problem!”

Out of sight, Rainbow coughed.

“Understood?” I nodded. Twilight eased up instantaneously, dropping her eyes back to the pages. “Excellent. I’m glad we’re past that issue. Now… let’s see here: ‘Cure your bouts of anger and violent outbursts with seven easy steps.’”

Twilight’s eyes were buried within the contents of the book. I still had doubts that my cold killer temper could be reined in by a textbook therapist. In spite of my doubts, I was willing to give Twilight Sparkle a chance and my full attention. The mind was an incomplete map with no markers or roads, yet she threw herself into the task of understanding it with initiative and passion and dedication.

I had to give reformation a chance. I was an emotionally unstable liability, one more title to add among my less–than–flattering traits. But did that mean I was not capable of redemption? We were all flaws, the perfect flaws. Yet the beauty of the soul was its ability to mend itself, to correct for fatal wounds and revive fractured resolves. Failing my child had blown a clean hole through mine. I was as perforated as the targets on a shooting gallery by past mistakes and the loss of loved ones. Not all of them could be healed. That did not stop me from trying.

I knew how to remedy my flaw—make myself a better parent, then find my daughter.

Lightning Bolt. Her name is Lightning Bolt. Please wait for me. I will be with you soon.

Back in the present, the status quo had persevered. Twilight Sparkle was still holding a book to her face. Rainbow Dash had walked to the stairs at some point. Her napping figure took up one of the steps. Perhaps I had been monologuing to myself longer than I realized.

“That’s quite unorthodox… but if the book says so…” Twilight murmured. With a smile, she set the book aside on the stool. I waited within my therapeutic cocoon. She kept up the smile and stared at me. If I had to guess, my first lesson would be about patience, and whether I had enough to tolerate other ponies. Easy answer: I did not.

“What are you testing me for?” I asked.

“Nothing.” Twilight looked toward Rainbow Dash for a split second. “Nothing at all.”

Her horn lit up. The couch shifted ever slightly around me. Before I could assess the danger I was in, she threw the couch into a backward somersault.

Author's Note

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

16 - And the Killer Was Smiling

Lots of ponies who held my position in the CPD either made the choice to retire early or had that choice made for them. My tenure was no different from my predecessors’, and any commentator or politician who said ‘times had changed’ was a liar. What I had to deal with was nothing new. But I had a natural talent, some said, that helped me survive each and every attempt on my life.

It was a powerful adrenaline rush carried over from my racing days. The usual symptoms came at the very instant danger arose—perception sharpens, heart rate increases, time slows down. As crazy as it sounded, my perception of time allowed me to see the bullet as it exited the barrel. I could spot cover, read the face of my attacker, and ruminate on the choices I made all before the bullet brushed past my mane as I dived out of the way.

But this talent did not make me the real–life equivalent of Power Pony Fili–Second. My body was no quicker, so if I made a wrong move and cost myself needed time… an early retirement. There were also times, when I was caught off guard or incapacitated; no amount of time dilation could save me if the bullet was already a hair from my forehead.

When Twilight Sparkle flipped the sofa over, my body was still encased in the fabric. I only managed to dig myself out before the couch went into a somersault through the air. My body sailed with the flying furniture as it completed a hundred–eighty degree rotation; on the way down, however, I was dislodged from the path the sofa was taking.

From a height of about a meter, I had around a fraction of a second before impact. The only choice I could make was whether to let my back or my chest hit the wooden floor. My wings could open, but there was simply too little time and space to break from the fall or soften the landing. All in all, I would rather wind up with a sore back than a broken rib.

I curved my body into a crescent shape as well, tucking my head in with my forelegs. When I crashed back to Earth, my head would not slam against the flooring. I bounced on landing, lodging me just a bit into the air before I came to rest on my left side. The sofa had fallen upside down a few centimeters in front of me.

The pain ripped me back to real time. It traveled right up my spine, setting alight all the nerves from the point of impact. The message they transferred back to my brain was not shock—I had experienced falls much worse—but rather encouragement. Encouragement to anger. Pain usually did that, and it served me a lot more effectively than self–pity. The killer within me was already painting red crosshairs on the alicorn responsible.

Rainbow Dash held my foreleg and helped me stand up. I brushed her aside. My chest burned with that familiar rage, and it was fanned by a thousand inflamed nerve ends. Royalty or not, friend or not, Twilight Sparkle had to know she had made a huge mistake. I spat my spite at her: “What in the name of Celestia has—”

“STOP.” She commanded.

And I obeyed. Maybe it was the surprising lack of remorse on her part; maybe it was just my inability to trust my resolve. “What?” I faltered. “No, you don’t get to—”

“STOP.” There she went again. The smug smile on her face erased all compunctions I had about my lethal desire. My hoof was curling around the trigger of a shotgun I did not have, but I had words for her that could more than satisfy as a substitute for twelve guage buckshot. Yet every time I opened my mouth—“STOP.”—she would would leave me gaping and glaring.

So I bit my lip and kept the flames pent–up. It was going to burn a hole through my throat if she kept this up.

Twilight smiled wider. “You feel your control slipping, don’t you?” She had no idea. “Step one: STOP.”

“…What,” Rainbow Dash said. Though I was certain she would have backed away from the coming beatdown, she remained by my side.

“When you feel angry, Fleetfoot, you resort to violence. Just by looking at you, I can tell that you want to punch me until I see stars in the middle of the afternoon.”

My teeth clenched, I answered back, “I would rather save the energy and settle for pistol whipping you in the mouth.”

“Pistol whipping?”

“It’s when you take a gun and… Oh, forget it.”

Twilight narrowed her eyes and mouthed the words one more time. The digression only lasted as long as that sentence, before she resumed her therapy. “This is exactly what I mean, though. You exploded on Featherweight and nearly hurt a child—”

“But I didn’t!”

“Then what was your intent when you came after him?”

To interrogate him. Like the thugs and ruthless characters in Cloudsdale’s underworld? No, my intent was to threaten him into… but that was a lie too. My intent was to hurt him. I was about to hurt a child out of anger for something petty.

That is the cruelty of the fall. Your flaws begin dragging you down a linear path of blind thoughts and unavoidable sins. The consequences ensnare your wings and legs with the weight of cinderblocks. You do not realize how fast you are sinking until you land at the doorstep of Tartarus with Cerberus tugging your mane toward its gates.

That was where most tragic heroes met their end. But none of them ever tried fighting, digging, and flying their way back up. I bested one underworld even after losing nearly everything to it. My story was not a tragedy. There will be a happy ending.

Twilight tapped my shoulder. When I looked up, she flinched and reeled her hoof back as though my stare could disintegrate her if she was too careless. Seeing that I was not going to obliterate her, the Princess took a step closer and smiled humbly.

Ascension was significantly easier when you had help from above.

“You’re not still mad about my flipping of the sofa, are you?” Twilight asked.

I shook my head. “It’s just something petty. You’re not going to break my leg or something next time we practice this anger management technique, are you?”

“No! Oh no,” she giggled. “But you should remind yourself whenever you get mad. Just STOP. Say it to yourself, if you have to.”

Rainbow Dash audibly rolled her eyes next to me. “That’s it? Seven ‘assured steps’ to cure your temper problem and one of them is to tell yourself one word over and over?”

Twilight floated the book above her head and frowned at Rainbow. “It’s a technique meant to help you acknowledge your anger and stop yourself from doing something you’ll regret.”

“Got you loud and clear.” The pegasus laid down on the wooden floor with her wings spread out. “The next time some armored guards try to arrest me because I’m flying a little too close to the Everfree, I’ll just tell myself to STOP! STOP! STOP!” She emphasized the punctuation of the word with both forelegs straightened out.

Twilight sighed and stared out the window at the cloud cover. “Shouldn’t you be out there?”

“Doing what.”

“Helping the weather ponies organize the rainstorm?”

Rainbow sat up, eyes half–lidded, staring between Twilight and me. “Haven’t you noticed how frequently I visit you nowadays, Twilight?” It was the door she was looking at.

Twilight gasped. “You lost your job!?”

“Nah. The Cut and Drieds just took storm cloud responsibilities away from me after someone… with a delicious sense of humor… stole away a cloud and bucked it above the lieutenant’s quarters. At two in the morning.”

I smirked and let out a laugh. “I thought you landed on the troublemakers list because of a graffiti prank.”

“You did what?”

Rainbow Dash scratched the back of her mane. Tilting her head to the left, she responded more quietly, “Yeah… I wasn’t caught for the graffiti though.”

Twilight could make a dragon bend the knee with the glower she was giving her best friend.

“Oh come on. She was a Canterlot regular, born and raised. It shows anytime she opens her mouth!”

“I was born and raised in Canterlot.”

Rainbow barely bat an eyelid. “Well then, count yourself lucky for having ponies like me to teach you the magic of modesty.”

Twilight opened her mouth, took in a huge breath, and stopped. Her lips squeezed together, and all that air left her through a snort. She stalked over to a shelf neatly arranged with candles and matchsticks. “How long has the battalion been doing your job?”

“Storm cloud responsibilities. I still clear the skies and stuff. Anyway, it’s been two weeks now.”

The Princess slashed something on the shelf with the matchstick and pulled it back into sight with a flame on top. The match lent light to a portable candle in her magic. “Rainbow Dash… It’s admirable how the battalion hasn’t sent me any complaints yet.”

Time slowed on the cusp of a eureka moment. The mind could arrange thousands of unrelated details and images into a coherent picture in the time it took for a camera lens to capture a single moment. In the back of my brain, a conspiracy theory was brewing. Personally, I thought I was insane enough to have these thoughts on a regular basis…

The CAD Battalion had a scheme planned. I was more ready to believe the Foal Press runt than I was the occupying military force. An army detachment I never heard about entered this town two weeks ago, intending to fight back giant bears at worst. They did not concentrate around the obvious source of threats—the Everfree—but rather within the center of town. Soldiers patrolled the streets, armed with the kind of equipment used to crack down on an uprising.

In comparison, Ponyville’s militia had just locals in tin armor like those sentries atop Town Hall. By themselves, they could possibly buy the town enough time to evacuate in case of a bear attack. I never saw any of Celestia’s finest mixing with the militia. They would not want to muddy their golden plates after all working with the commoners. Cooperation between the two entities was presumably non–existent.

Then there were the disappearances. At least four citizens disappeared right around the time that the battalion arrived; the rest of the town was none the wiser. Yet there was another unsettling layer to this police state—memory manipulation. Assuming that Equestria’s intelligence service refrained from purging itself overnight, then there should be a handful of specialists who could cast such an intricate spell.

This concern was where the theory grew dubious. No one outside of the alicorns could possibly implement the spell over the entire town’s populace with the necessary speed and efficiency. There was no reason to suspect the kind of twist, in which the protagonist’s friend turned out to be the evil mastermind. Real life tended to throw us surprises a little more creative than that.

Besides, one of the disappearances was an Element of Harmony—one of Twilight’s best friends. The Princess likely had her memory tweaked just like Rainbow Dash. While I was on that subject, I had a hunch that the CAD battalion might be targeting the Element of Loyalty next. No bureaucrat ever kept their complaints to themselves out of patience or respect. Colonel Glory and his suboordinates probably wanted to keep attention away from their feud with Rainbow, so that they avoided suspicion once she was gone.

That raised the question of why they would draw attention away from the feud if they could manipulate the memories of everyone in town. That was the trouble with conspiracy theories—you had to reject all the details that did not substantiate the conspiracy. This kind of thinking was the antithesis of detective work, but then again, I had already fallen far from my honorable position.

A few disappearances linked to a national secret closely guarded by major players in both the underworld and the government. It was a familiar case, the kind that ended with little evidence collected and all the suspects dead. Not necessarily the worst result, if you asked anyone in the force—it was more important to stay alive than to solve the case. When the bullets started flying, the only investigative skill I depended on was instinct.

I had to hope Featherweight would give me a lead once I met up with him. Instinct now told me the Cut–and–Drieds were behind a lot more than the disappearances.

But first, my third–greatest priority—lunch.

“We should jump right to step two,” Twilight said. Both the candle and the guide book floated to the top of her stool. “This one is sort of a continuation of the first step…”

I raised my hoof. “Could we put this session on hold? I haven’t eaten lunch yet.”

Twilight blinked and stared right at me. “Oh. Didn’t Rainbow Dash treat you to a restaurant around here?” The pegasus in question shook her head. “Didn’t the battalion offer you any meal?”

“I left before I could take a bite.” I got up on all four hooves, feeling my stomach writhe from the torment of emptiness.

Twilight leveled her eyes to the ground, pulling up her lower lip in frustration. “I wish I could treat you to a meal inside my home, but with Spike away, I wouldn’t be able to do you justice with my cooking.”

“Not a problem!” Rainbow Dash showed off her pearl white smile. She lifted herself up with a pump of her wings. “I know a sweet place that offers a combo of daffodil sandwiches and hay fries!”

“I guess we’ll just return to this on another time then,” Twilight muttered. Her magic set the stool and the sofa in an empty corner. “How about this evening? Before the expected storm?”

I nodded. “I’ll make it.”

Rainbow opened the door for me. On her insistence, we flew to the restaurant she wanted to visit. On the flight, I watched for golden armor in the streets below, expecting more than a few pairs of eyes staring right back. Unfortunately, there were a lot more eyes watching Rainbow and me than I could keep track of. It seemed as though the whole town was intent on seeing us. Undoubtedly this publicity was the result of Featherweight’s article.

The mob was upon us the moment we landed at the restaurant. Once we were encircled by eager Wonderbolt fans and paparazzi, I started remembering all the horrible encounters I had with the Cloudsdale public in the old days.

“Oh golly, Fleetfoot the Wonderbolt! What are you doing—”

“—signing my son’s cap? I know you must be busy, but—”

“—the readers have got to know what sort of feud you have with smugglers!”

The voices of the mob were blending together into a piercing drone in my ears. Although the townsfolk respected or feared me enough to avoid physical contact, I still felt my body temperature rise and sweat accumulate on my forehead. I was confined in a box, cowering at the open sky as it descended upon me. The pen trembled in my grip, turning signatures into mad cryptograms.

Admittedly, I was a little rusty when it came to dealing with these crowds.

Rainbow Dash, on the other hand, handled the attention like a veteran celebrity. Her smile and warm words sent ripples of exhilaration across the ponies, who returned the feeling with cheers. When children desired photos or reporters demanded answers, she saw to their wishes with practiced bravado. How could she still be here instead of Cloudsdale, signing a kid’s shirt instead of signing a Wonderbolt contract?

She reached a foreleg around my neck and leaned her muzzle toward my ear. “We’ll give them what they expect. It’s the fastest way to take care of these crowds.” And they expected us to pose like a duo of buddy cops. I had to hold a distressed smile for nearly a minute while the photographers got into position. As for how long it took for everyone to take their pictures? You probably should not trust my account for that––everything was relative to the observer.

Right after the last camera flash, I walked away. I found us a table inside the restaurant––a place called “Cafe Hay”––farthest from the windows and the street.

It mattered very little to me whether or not some filly had patiently waited there to get an autograph. I was done with this Wonderbolt facade. Besides, my insides felt like they were cannibalizing themselves, only partly out of hunger.

“Hey, Fleetfoot,” Rainbow laid out her hooves on the table. “You okay?”

“Yes. Absolutely. I’m fine. What are you ordering?” I grabbed the menu, found the daffodil sandwich combo, and tossed the pamphlet to the ground. We were sitting here for Celestia knows how long, and there was still no waiter coming.

Rainbow looked down at her own menu, taking her sweet time to ultimately select the same thing I did. A tan orange stallion wearing a notch lapel (oddly without the suit) came to take our orders. If the cooks worked as slowly as the waiter trotted, I was going to eat the flowers they put in their fancy vases.

“You’re getting angry,” Rainbow suddenly declared.

I was just running a hoof through my amazing mane to kill time. When did she start reading a psychology textbook? “I’m not angry. I’m––I’m irritated,” I said. My ears were twitching. “Because I’m starving.”

Rainbow steeled her doubtful expression. “You need to calm down. Those ponies were just excited to see a Wonderbolt in town.”

“You think I don’t understand that?” I bit my lip and laid my head on the table. That was louder than intended. “I didn’t ask to be a Wonderbolt again. I’d give you my position if I remembered how.” My vision narrowed into a thin ellipse around Rainbow Dash as my hooves cupped my eyes. “I quit racing seven years ago to become a detective. My days used to be spent chasing criminals and doing paperwork on collateral damage. I was happy with my lot. Proud of my lot. So I’m not about to ease into this new life of mine. Not while my daughter’s still taken from me and while the Cut and Drieds are scheming behind our backs.”

“Yeah, Fleetfoot! Cut and dried is just how I like my hay fries!” Rainbow was almost shouting, as though she were invoking the princess of the sun to hear her fast food preferences. Her eyes were wide, darting to every dark corner in the restaurant.

I was genuinely worried that my rambling had given her psychosis. “Have you lost your mind?”

Rainbow brought her head close to the table, leveling her eyes to mine. With hooves pressed against her forehead, she whispered, “Maybe I have. It’s like you’ve been talking in another code this whole day.”

“What?”

“Just hear me out,” she began. Her head shot up suddenly, and a plate settled in its place on the tabletop. A daffodil sandwich with complementary hay fries and milkshake. The fragrance was as soothing as a lover’s embrace, as addicting as their dreamt memory, as fulfilling as consummated parenthood. In essence, it was a hint of expectation frozen in time, and I finally had the choice of when to resume reality.

“Miss, if you will please move your head…” I lifted my head away from the plate at the waiter’s urging. My own sandwich combo was placed before me. “Enjoy the meal.”

I had not eaten in ten years—that was the impression you would get anyway if you saw how quickly I was devouring that sandwich.

“Told ya it was good,” Rainbow said between bites. “Because I’m your friend and all… I say this to you out of concern for your well–being…” She smiled with a handful of fries in her mouth. As she chewed, her right eye blinked erratically. The mind of a royal guard might mistake the movement for some kind of facial tic—the mind of a detective sees much more below the surface. It is trained, for instance, to see and decipher morse code.

Rainbow continued, “You should stop babbling about this make–believe past of yours. I mean, you, a detective? Give me a break! Twilight and I are doing our best to support you, but I think we’ve been getting a little too caught up in your craziness. You gotta let go of this story of yours. It’s been hurting you and all of your friends who want to help. So don’t mention any of it anymore. Okay?”

I looked down at my cleared plate, letting my shoulders drop and voicing a sigh. With a full stomach, my confidence was restored, so much so that I could put on the façade of losing it. If the Cut and Drieds were really watching us, then we had to be vigilant and throw them red herrings to chow down on.

Rainbow’s real message was straight to the point: “They’re listening. Featherweight’s house at twelve. Use the rooftops.”

My only lead was a child editor, but the picture had never been clearer than now. I had a suspect to pursue and friends to stop me from destroying myself. Nothing, bar an actual mental breakdown, would stop me so long as the trail was hot.

As for Lightning Bolt… I was going to need a way to engrave her in my mind.

Chapter 2 - There Are Only Personal Apocalypses

Cloudsdale. Pristine city in the clouds.

Born and raised in this city, I had always been, to a degree, aware of its ugly underbelly. Visitors always painted the grandiose old city––the cloud layer distinctly recognizable for the colosseums, pillars, and other monuments––with a fixation on rainbows and pure, light overtone, but there was more to a lake than just its reflective surface.

The heart of the metropolis was buried deeper in the clouds than rainbows could penetrate through. I only learned where all the filth and imperfections went once I became big as a Wonderbolt.

When Celestia’s light fell, Cloudsdale became something else. Bad things happened in the night, on the streets of that other city. Noir Cloudsdale.

When the whole world was engulfed in darkness, Solar Wind’s bar was the only safe haven left on the planet. Tucked within the Pulsant District, flanked by the zeppelin docks, and equipped with the strongest drinks, the joint was the best escape from the problems of the present. So of course, after scouring the city from top to bottom, calling for Lightning Bolt in the early morning, I landed at the bar. My wings were shot from the search effort, sore and useless at my sides; I would have given them away to have my daughter back, wherever she had disappeared to. Nothing was ever that easy though.

I tugged on the collar of the black leather coat I had brought with me, trying to retain my warmth, lest it disappear just as suddenly. The sun did not shine too well down in Pulsant–– it would not dare. This place was condemned, abandoned to winter by Celestia.

Entering the bar was like arriving at an old friend’s house on Hearth’s Warming and smelling a banquet in the oven. There was familiar company at the tables, smiles adorned on faces that had not seen the sun in ages. The ponies here were a motley of luckless gamblers, cheating husbands and wives, and local scumbags with cutie marks of power tools. All walks of Cloudsdale ended up here, drinking to achieve that state of bliss in drunken amnesia. Needless to say, I fit right in.

I found Jetstream at the counter, taking a swig from a mug half her size. She was already slipping out of her stool when I took the seat to her right. Jetstream gave me a tipsy, puckered grin and gulped the rest of her drink. I was waiting on the bartender, desperate to order a kicking bronco whiskey.

The mare next to me slammed down the mug and threw her foreleg around my neck. “Black chariots, Fleetfoot! Look them up!” Her mumbo jumbo was hardly helping my nerves.

I took a deep sigh and got straight to the point. “What’s this talk about the Wonderbolts, Jetstream? I’m a detective now.”

She chuckled, head drooping closer to the counter every second. “With that coat, you’re more like a henchman for one of Daring Do’s archenemies. Doesn’t speak ‘CPD! Hooves in the air!’ to me.” Swiveling away from me, Jetstream tapped her mug three times and rung in Solar Wind. He materialized from behind the cloudwork, a plate and towel in his hooves. “Star Hunter, dearest of all my friends! Another cider.”

Solar Wind, a stallion with a navy blue coat and a lighter blue mane, nodded and turned to me. His expression was stoic enough to say nothing, but the concentration in his eyes suggested that he already knew my excuse for being here. “What will it be, Fleetfoot?”

“The usual. Kicking Bronco.”

Solar Wind’s hooves stopped, the towel and plate stuck mid-drying. “Beg your pardon?”

“Kicking Bronco. Your strongest whiskey, Solar Wind.” My voice was already strained like a rope ready to snap apart and lash out at the nearest pony.

“I don’t recognize the name nor the drink. You know my name and you know I don’t serve anything stronger than the Apple Family’s cider.”

That distinct buzzing returned full strength. Solar Wind, or ‘Star Hunter,’ was the last pony I expected to lie to me. I could not stop my forelegs from slamming on the counter, earning a flinch from the bartender. “Apple cider? That’s practically a soft drink to accompany kids’ meals. This is a bar. You can’t tell me there’s nothing in your inventory that has at least a portion of alcohol in it?”

Solar Wind was stock still, standing on his hindlegs against a stack of kegs. Even Jetstream cocked her head. Looking around me, I could see that my tantrum had attracted the attention of the whole gathering. And on every single table, there was a mug of cider. No vodka, no whiskey, no beer. This was it. It was the end of the world as I knew it: prohibition.

Finally, Solar Wind spoke up and broke the silence: “Alcohol? Why would you drink an antiseptic?”

“Ah, it all makes sense.” Jetstream threw her legs around in a wild attempt to emphasize her revelation. “You see, Fleetfoot lost her memories. She can’t remember being part of the Wonderbolts, so she’s drinking it to heal her brain.”

I dropped my head into my hooves and groaned. It was the end of the world, and I could not even get drunk at a bar.